


When Blood Spills

by softyjseo



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, District Seven (Hunger Games), Eventual Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mentions of Violence, Mentors, Romance, Slow Burn, The Capitol (Hunger Games), Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-16 17:09:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 60,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29579373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softyjseo/pseuds/softyjseo
Summary: Taeyong had done this many times before.Taeyong had been a mentor for district Seven for the past five years, bearing the responsibility of teenagers that were bound to end up dead. It was harrowing, each and every time, but the sixty-fifth annual Hunger Games were looking out to be the first that would change things for the better.
Relationships: Kim Dongyoung | Doyoung/Lee Taeyong
Comments: 37
Kudos: 169





	When Blood Spills

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dochiwrites](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dochiwrites/gifts).



> HEYOOOOOO
> 
> i come here, bringing gifts. a 60k dotae hunger games fic i've been working on since january 1st -- so. yeah. I was thinking about it during christmas, pitched it to Bee, and she got so excited that, naturally, this entire fic is dedicated to her. Go read her fics, she is absolutely wonderful and sweet. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this story! It took me a while to finish but with that journey I ended up really, really loving it and so i hope you do, too. 
> 
> WARNINGS THAT MAY APPLY:  
> because it is the hunger games, there is violence and death. there is no major character death as in Taeyong or Doyoung, but death for others is inevitable. Mentions of blood, of violence and fights are scattered among the story. I tried my best not to write it as graphic so that everyone could enjoy, and I hope I succeeded. BUT, if you find you can't read this story; no harm, no foul. I want you to take care of yourself and your own triggers, and if you know you can't handle these topics, I wish a happy day for you and I want you to know that clicking away from this fic is very much possible and not a bad thing, at all. 
> 
> mwah
> 
> d.

Taeyong had done this many times before. 

He had sat and watched as hundreds of children filled the townsquare, all dressed up to the nines as much as they could and with terrified looks on their faces. The parents always stood to the sides, their area barricaded by peacekeepers and ropes, and Taeyong remembered what it was like to try and find his own father in the mass of parents as the movie played like it did every year. 

He had sat through the Reaping himself five times as a potential tribute. Now, though, Taeyong sat through it as a mentor, watched as other children had their names called and listened to the screams and crying of the parents who were left behind, each and every time. 

Taeyong hadn’t stood in the square designated for the potential male tributes ever since he was seventeen. He remembered what it was like to stand in the harsh sun, squinting his eyes at the large stage and trying his best to listen to Baekhyun Byun speak. It was always hard to keep his shit together, to manage to get through the Reaping okay before finding his father and heading home again. 

Taeyong’s home had always been a house half made out of brick, half made out of wood, which he shared with his father and nobody else. Their home was far too cold in the winter and far too hot in the summer, but Taeyong had always called it home. After the Reaping each year, his father would light either a candle or a fire, no matter the temperature, to mourn the chosen tributes across Panem and to wish them well. 

Taeyong never watched the games himself. He wasn’t allowed to. His father thought it to be far too cruel for him to watch, even though his name was in the bowl each and every year. But, Taeyong didn’t have to watch to know that they were cruel. He had lost a classmate to the games, someone he saw as more than an acquaintance but less than a friend. His name had been Kyungsoo, a boy they all thought had a chance to win. He was older than Taeyong, but they shared a classroom. 

Taeyong had shared a classroom with other tributes, ones that never returned home, and he remembered what it was like to return back to school the day after the Reaping. The dread that filled the narrow hallways of the school, the grim faces of the teachers and the crying of friends who had watched their friend walk the stage. 

Taeyong allowed his eyes to scan the crowd from where he was seated on the side of the stage. He spotted Yuta standing among the other adults, and his friend looked at the screen with his eyes squinted against the hot summer sun. Yuta had told him that things would be alright that morning, that Taeyong would get through it, and while Taeyong had believed those words after breakfast, he felt that they were a lie now that he sat on the stage.

Baekhyun was still talking, the movie finished and the two bowls with names in them on either side of the stage. If Taeyong reached out far enough he could probably touch the one closest to him, but he stayed seated and kept quiet. 

He could see several young girls in the front row trying their best to keep their tears at bay. Taeyong wanted to hug them close and tell them that it was all going to be okay, but he couldn’t keep such a promise. He watched as a few silent tears streamed down the cheeks of a girl who he guessed to be around sixteen, seventeen, and he felt his heart constrict at the sight. 

He remembered what it was like to stand there, twiddling his thumbs and hoping for the best. Taeyong could see himself in the girl standing there. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, wishing that the girl would not be chosen and would be allowed to go home after the Reaping. 

They all had families, Taeyong knew. He knew some of the adults standing to the side by name, old classmates he had when he attended the small school hidden behind the town market. Ones that had survived seven Reapings without their names being called and were now free to go and live their lives.

Taeyong was supposed to be free, too. That’s what the Capitol promised after he had won, after he was shown to his new home in the Victors’ Village. He was everything but free, though, and for that he envied his classmates. 

Taeyong knew he shouldn’t, for he had everything and more. He had the money to keep taking care of his father until he passed away two years ago. He had a home that was cold during the summer and warm during the winter and he had the means to donate, to make sure his people had enough, but it all came at a price. 

And the price was this. The sickening parade he had to put up every single year, shaken out of his bed two days before the Reaping and not being allowed to take a breath until the Games ended, no matter the outcome. 

“And now, the moment we have all been waiting for,” Baekhyun’s voice echoed across the townsquare, his tone much too cheery for Taeyong’s liking, and he sighed. He had gotten to know Baekhyun a lot better, especially after spending the Games with him after he won, and Taeyong knew that Baekhyun would crumble in his own carriage on the train tonight. “Should we do ladies first? Or boys, for a change, perhaps?”

Nobody answered, and Taeyong knew that Baekhyun hadn’t expected one, either. The children didn’t move from their spots, stayed as still as possible as the peacekeepers kept watch, and Taeyong felt his skin crawl at the sight of some of the younger faces in the crowd. 

He knew what it took to become a Victor, to win the Games, and no matter what the Capitol said, a twelve year old would never be able to fulfill that. They were too fragile, too scared, and while Taeyong knew this was natural and hoped for them to never lose that innocence too early, it always made him anxious at times like these.

Taeyong wasn’t sure whether he would be able to mentor a twelve-year old at all. He wouldn’t know what to tell them, wouldn’t know how to console them. The words ‘It’s going to be okay’ carried no weight, no meaning in a situation so dreadful and terrifying as being a tribute for the Games. 

“Let’s do the ladies, then.” Baekhyun said into the microphone before he moved to the left side of the stage, further away from Taeyong. Taeyong felt his heart speed up, felt his toes curl in his shoes, and he heaved a sigh. 

He dared a look to the side, the Mayor of district seven sitting next to him with his eyes focused on the bowl that Baekhyun’s hand slowly descended into. Taeyong hoped, not only for the Mayor but also for his wife, that their daughter would be spared. Taeyong knew that this was her last Reaping before she turned nineteen from a conversation he had had with the Mayor during one of his dinner parties, and Taeyong hoped he wouldn’t have to mentor her. She was a lovely girl, full of ideas and wonderful spirit. She didn’t deserve to die a cruel death, one she was destined to have if she were to enter the Arena.

Although, Taeyong didn’t wish that death upon anyone. 

“And the female tribute for district seven during the sixty-fifth annual Hunger Games is,” Baekhyun fumbled to remove the tape from the folded piece of paper, and Taeyong closed his eyes. The square was far too quiet, something that could only be achieved on this day or on the last day of the Games. “Yerim Kim!” 

Before Taeyong could stop himself, a sigh of relief washed over him. He could sense the Mayor next to him relax as well, his daughter still safe and sound, but then the guilt washed over him as he turned his head to look at the crowd and spotted Yerim moving toward the stage, Baekhyun already at the stairs to help her up. 

The silence as Yerim walked to the microphone was deafening and Taeyong swallowed. He wasn’t supposed to move until both Victors were chosen and so he stayed seated, but all he wanted to do was rush over to her and take her hand. Taeyong couldn’t see her face clearly from where he was seated, her long hair blocking her face, and dread filled him from head to toe. 

“Oh how lovely! Do you have anything you would like to say?” Baekhyun asked her, the poor girl standing next to him like a statue, and Taeyong wasn’t surprised when Yerim shook her head. Taeyong couldn’t blame her. He had gone into shock himself, standing frozen on the stage as Baekhyun talked to him and he was forced into the town hall. Taeyong didn’t even remember saying his goodbyes to his father. 

“Well! Now, for the boys.” Baekhyun said after Yerim took a small step back from the microphone, and Taeyong felt a new rush of anxiety surge through him. Yerim wasn’t young, Taeyong had hope for her. He could only hope that the male tribute would be the same, perhaps a year older. 

Taeyong watched as Baekhyun’s hand descended into the bowl and he held his breath as Baekhyun took hold of one of the folded pieces of paper before walking back to the microphone. Baekhyun audibly cleared his throat into it before ripping the tape off, and opening his mouth.

“The male tribute for district seven during the sixty-fifth annual Hunger Games is Jeno Lee!” Taeyong moved his head away from Baekhyun to scan the crowd of boys. He could see a few of them parting from someone Taeyong couldn’t quite see from his position, and he bit his lip anxiously as he waited for the boy to come into view. 

Taeyong closed his eyes. Jeno Lee’s face showed innocence, a young mind, and Taeyong was hit with the realization that if he wanted either of these two to win, they would have to work on their expressions, on their skills. 

When Jeno made it onto the stage, however, Taeyong eyed his physique and instantly grew less worried. Jeno had arms like he worked within the trees, like he helped the lumbers during their days, and it was a relief to see Jeno’s friendly smile morph into a deadly glare as soon as his face turned away from the crowd even for the slightest of seconds. 

Taeyong stopped himself from making any more assumptions for Baekhyun had turned his head and nodded at him to come on stage, and Taeyong moved to stand up from his seat. He knew that he was never going to get used to this feeling, of being watched by the parents of the children he was going to either guide to victory or their deaths, and the burden that rested upon his shoulders grew with every step forward. 

Taeyong watched as the trees moved past them, the train moving at such a speed that made them almost unrecognizable. Taeyong hated everything about riding this damned train, even if the trip took only two days. He couldn’t feel the movements the train made, designed to feel like it wasn’t moving at all, and Taeyong hated it.

Yerim and Jeno were sitting across from him, Yerim with tears stained cheeks and Jeno with a grim expression on his face. Taeyong understood how they felt, having been in the same position six years ago, and he wished he could assure them that things were going to be just fine. But he couldn’t, for that would be an outright lie, and both of the teenagers in front of him would know. 

Taeyong had shared the loveseat his tributes were sitting on with Siyeon, who had been fierce and determined to win. Taeyong had held out hope for her, back then, and was convinced she would be able to get the right allies with just her smile and convince some of the Career tributes to be her ally with her swift movements with an axe. 

Taeyong closed his eyes, the silence in the carriage overwhelming with Baekhyun gone to the bathroom, their only source of sound. Taeyong wished he could talk to both Jeno and Yerim, but he also knew from personal experience that tributes needed time, time to process what had just taken place and what their fates were. 

Behind his eyelids, Taeyong saw the image of Siyeon’s face appearing in the sky of the Arena, along with Panem’s anthem, and how he had shed a tear. The two of them had been part of the last ten tributes in the Arena, and Taeyong had still held out hope that she would win, that she would make their district proud. 

Instead, he was forced to comfort her family when he was the one to return home. 

Accompanying Siyeon’s face were the tributes Taeyong had mentored to their deaths, had trained with and had cared for. Taeyong had a small shrine for them in one of the bedrooms of his home, which was far too big for just himself. He had pictures of them from when they trained in the Capitol and had asked their parents if they had any that Taeyong could borrow. 

Taeyong hoped the families had received their monthly foods and money well, and hoped it would be enough. Taeyong was plagued by the fact that he was the one who should have protected them and failed every single day of his life, and while he knew that money couldn’t possibly bring them back, he wanted to take the burden off of the families of those he had failed to protect as much as he could.

“So we’re really dying.” Yerim’s voice was somehow still soft in the already deafeningly quiet carriage, and Taeyong opened his eyes once more. He couldn’t worry about those who had fallen under his protection, not now. Not when he had two very much alive teenagers to take care of, who depended on him because of his knowledge and also his ability to gain sponsors for them once they stepped foot in the arena. 

“That’s not true.” Taeyong countered, reaching over to tap one hand on the table. A soft voice echoed out of it, announcing that someone would bring them water soon, and Jeno raised a quizzical eyebrow. 

“Does all the furniture talk?” 

Before Taeyong could respond to him, though, Yerim spoke up again. “We can’t possibly compete with the Careers.” 

Taeyong couldn’t really fight her statement, for the victors that rose from the Hunger Games were usually tributes from district one, two or four, and she seemed to know and realize that. Careers were terrifying to deal with, Taeyong knew, but he tried to shake that off as he turned to look at Yerim. “You can. If you’re smart. The only thing they train is combat, how to throw a knife. They don’t know the necessary skills that come with survival.” 

Jeno scoffed, “As if knowing how to purify water is going to help us when there are knives flying at our heads.” 

Taeyong wanted to groan. He had had his fair share of experience with tributes that were adamant on learning combat skills rather than survival skills, one even going as far as forgoing both and throwing himself off of his pedestal the second he arrived in the Arena.

Taeyong tried to shake off the thought of Yixing, a boy he thought had potential but lacked the will to fight. It had been Taeyong’s first year as a mentor and Taeyong was tormented by the sight of it every single time he closed his eyes. 

“It won’t help when there are knives flying at your heads, I won’t deny that. But it will help when you’re nearly dehydrated and find a small body of water.” Taeyong commented, just before one of the doors leading to their carriage slid open, revealing Baekhyun followed by a girl in all white with a platter filled with four glasses and a glass bottle of water. 

“Both survival and combat are important.” Taeyong continued, feeling Baekhyun sit down next to him. 

Baekhyun huffed, “Oh, Taeyong is absolutely right! They are both vital to reach victory in the games. Last year, one of the careers died of poisonous berries. It’s always good to kno—”

“You want us to learn about berries when they are going to be slaughtering fighting dummies left and right?” Yerim screeched, making Taeyong flinch in his seat. 

He shook his head, “That’s not what we’re saying, Yerim. You need to learn how to fight, too.” 

Taeyong could see that neither tribute were very much convinced, but he knew that once they arrived at the Capitol, that they would realise that Baekhyun and him were right. Fighting was important, of course, but knowing how to identify poisonous berries and purify water was just as important. 

Taeyong knew, once again, from personal experience. 

“We do have the footage of the other Reapings.” Baekhyun said, reaching forward to take the glasses from the girl without saying a word to her. When she put the bottle of water down on the table, Taeyong whispered a tiny ‘thanks’ to her. She didn’t smile but the look in her eyes was enough, and Taeyong watched her walk away before turning back to his tributes.

“We will go through those tomorrow and see who your competition is.” Taeyong spoke, making Jeno frown. 

“Why not now? Don’t we need to study them?” 

Taeyong shook his head. “A Reaping won’t tell you much about what they are like in combat. The studying begins when you start to train _with_ them.” 

Jeno seemed unconvinced, and Taeyong decided that if Jeno was as ruthless as he was stubborn, perhaps district seven would have another winner. Taeyong didn’t put his hope on it, though. He refused to give himself that amount of false hope, and he knew that he would never really be released from the shackles of the Capitol and the horrible things they did and made him do.

But, Taeyong was also forced to remember the small smile Jeno had worn while making his way to the stage. There was a kindness about Jeno, and Taeyong wasn’t entirely sure whether the younger would be capable of taking someone’s life in the end. 

No matter how hard one tried, a tribute would have to kill in order to win. There simply wasn’t another option. 

“Do you think we have a chance, Taeyong?”

Yerim’s question was something Taeyong had been expecting, had been waiting for, but he hadn’t expected it to come so soon, with their homes barely behind them and days of training left to go. Taeyong hadn’t seen them wield a weapon yet, nor had he seen what they were like when they were on edge, whether they could be quiet and subtle. Taeyong had no idea what these two teenagers knew and didn’t know, and it was horrible how he was forced to teach them everything he knew in such little time. 

“Everyone has a chance.” Baekhyun said, ever the cheerful one, and Taeyong was grateful for him. It had taken time to get used to Baekhyun, but once Taeyong realized that Baekhyun’s flair was mostly a mechanism to cope with the pressure that his job presented him with, it had become easier. After drinking themselves to smithereens after Baekhyun escorted Taeyong to his new home in the Victors Village, the wounds of the Games still littered Taeyong’s body and mind, they had bonded. They called each other every now and again, and whenever Taeyong was forced to stay in the Capitol for a few days for business, he chose to stay with Baekhyun and his husband instead of a hotel. 

“Thanks, that’s really uplifting.” Yerim said before she stood up, turning to look at Baekhyun with a frown on her face. Taeyong could see the tears brimming in her eyes, but he chose to stay silent. There was no use in trying to comfort someone who had convinced themselves they were going to die. Taeyong knew this, for his own mentor had tried again and again. He didn’t blame him, not really. “Where is my room?”

Baekhyun spluttered, spewing a few droplets of water across the table, before he pointed toward the other door that led to the sleeping carriages. “Yours is the third one. Jeno has the fourth one.” 

Taeyong watched Yerim nod before she walked off, leaving the carriage and silence in her wake. Jeno was getting fidgety, nervous, and Taeyong wished he had the right words to talk to him. 

“You look strong.” Baekhyun commented, a small smile on his face. Jeno raised an eyebrow before looking at his own arms, a smile of pride growing on his features. 

“Chopping wood all day will do that for you.” Jeno didn’t look resentful toward Baekhyun, and Taeyong admired him for that. Most chosen tributes were filled with hatred toward anyone who lived in the Capitol, understandably so, and Taeyong had been the same. Jeno, however, didn’t seem to hold any hostility to Baekhyun.

If he showed himself like that at the parade, perhaps Jeno could charm a few citizens into being his sponsor. 

“Oh? So you know how to wield an axe?” Taeyong asked, shifting in his seat. He was thirsty, but he feared that even water would be too much to handle for the anxiety that coursed through his stomach. He was afraid he wouldn’t be able to keep it inside. 

Jeno hummed, “Axes, but I also know my way around a bow and arrow.” 

Taeyong felt relief creep into his system, but he willed it to go away. He didn’t want to feel hope, but being able to wield both a long-distance and a close combat weapon was an amazing skill to have, especially in the Games. “Good to know.” 

“It’s getting late, you two.” Baekhyun then interrupted, and Taeyong knew he was right, but he didn’t want to sleep just yet. Taeyong was sure that he wouldn’t be able to even if he tried, but Jeno seemed eager to get some rest. “We should all head to bed.” 

Jeno hummed, “Fourth carriage, right?” 

Baekhyun nodded, standing up as well. “Yes. Breakfast is tomorrow at eight. Could you perhaps tell Yerim?”

Jeno nodded, “Of course.” Before he walked off, leaving Taeyong as the only one still sitting down. 

“You’re worried.” Baekhyun commented, his back turned to Taeyong. 

Taeyong sighed, “When am I not?” 

Baekhyun didn’t answer. Instead, he simply turned his head to give Taeyong a look that said words Baekhyun could never speak out loud due to the nature of his function in the whole terrible, terrible game the Hunger Games were, but Taeyong knew what he meant. 

Baekhyun was worried, too.

Both Jeno and Yerim looked overwhelmed as the train finally stopped, Capitol residents flanking the train with cameras and loud cheers they couldn’t hear just yet. The train was soundproof and Taeyong thanked whoever had come up with that idea internally, for he was sure that Yerim would have started sobbing right then and there if she had been able to hear the residents scream instead of just seeing them. 

She looked downright terrified, her right hand shaking as she raised it to wave at the people standing on the platform, and Taeyong felt whatever hope he had for her leave his system. She looked awkward, and that wasn’t going to get her sponsors. He couldn’t blame her entirely, though, for Taeyong had been the same when he had arrived in the Capitol for the first time. 

Jeno, on the other hand, had a smile on his face and was enthusiastically waving at the people on the platform. He looked nervous, too, and Taeyong could tell that he was overwhelmed by the way his eyes kept flicking back and forth across the platform, but Jeno seemed to carry it better. Seemed to be able to charm the residents as the door slid open and the sound of cheers and yells filled Taeyong’s ears, making him wince. 

He was still hidden in the shadows of the train, not standing in front of either a window or the door, and for that he was grateful. Baekhyun, who was standing next to him, had grown up in this environment. He slipped back into his persona easily, rolling his shoulders and closing his eyes briefly as if he had given himself a mental pep-talk. 

Most days, Taeyong envied the way Baekhyun was able to handle things. But Taeyong also knew that while he looked like he was fine, Baekhyun struggled through the Games, too. 

“The District Seven tributes!” A mechanical voice echoed through the station, and the crowd around the train erupted into even louder cheers, making Taeyong wish he was back home again, sitting next to his fireplace with a book in his lap that he wasn’t planning on reading. 

Jeno and Yerim stepped forward onto the platform and were flanked by two peacekeepers almost instantly. Taeyong watched as they were guided through the crowd with their help, the peacekeepers pushing away any resident that tried to get their hands on them, and Taeyong had to stop himself from bristling. 

These people looked at both Yerim and Jeno as if they were puppets, part of their daily entertainment, and perhaps to them the Games were nothing but that. Entertainment. Taeyong wished he could tell them that it was different and that they would listen, but he doubted he would get far before a bullet would be shot between his eyes. 

Taeyong sighed to himself and copied Baekhyun as he rolled his shoulders before stepping out onto the platform as well, another pair of peacekeepers at the ready to make sure Taeyong made it to their car safely.

The yelling increased in volume, and all Taeyong wanted to do was cover his ears and run away. Instead, he put on his most convincing smile and raised a hand to wave at the people, smiling at them and reaching over to touch some hands as he was pushed through the crowd by the two peacekeepers. 

Taeyong knew that Baekhyun was behind him somewhere, but Taeyong tried not to focus on that. Instead he searched for Jeno and Yerim and found them standing at the edge of the platform, the peacekeepers still by their sides, and a black car with a Capitol flag awaiting them. 

Taeyong forced his smile to grow as he walked further, touching several people in his wake, and when he finally made it to the car, Yerim and Jeno were already inside. Taeyong nodded at the peacekeepers as a dismissal and slid into the car, the door closing behind him and cutting off the noise from the train station. 

“That was—” Yerim started, her eyes still wide as they focused on the window. 

“Loud.” Jeno continued for her, and Yerim nodded. Taeyong nodded, for he couldn’t exactly fight that statement, and he leant over to the front of the car, the driver hidden behind a screen, and reached to grab a few bottles of water. 

He turned back to the tributes and handed them both a bottle. Jeno smiled at him, gratefully, but before Taeyong could say something back, Yerim opened her mouth. “They adore you.” 

The words weren’t exactly wrong. Taeyong had managed to build quite the reputation among the Capitol citizens, but Taeyong doubted they adored him as much as Yerim thought. They thought he was pretty, sure. In some magazines he was referred to as a doll, and while Taeyong knew that he had a handsome face, his skin crawled every time he saw the word. 

“They— they know me.” Taeyong said, hoping to comfort the both of them a little bit. Jeno huffed, though, a smile on his face before he took a sip of his water. 

“They don’t seem to just _know_ you.” Jeno commented, looking out of the window with wide eyes. The Capitol consisted of many, many high buildings that district seven didn’t have. The first time Taeyong saw them he was astonished, and he couldn’t blame Yerim and Jeno for feeling the same way. 

“I’m a Victor.” Taeyong said, hoping that would explain it. Yerim eyed him with narrow eyes as if she was trying to see whether Taeyong was going to say more, but when Taeyong kept quiet she also moved to look out of the window. 

“When is the parade?” Jeno asked after a few minutes, breaking the silence that had fallen between the three of them. Taeyong was used to tributes that were either too scared to even think about anything else other than their inevitable death, or tributes that were eager to know everything, to learn the best strategies even before they had departed the train in the Capitol. 

“Tonight,”

“Where are we going now?” Yerim interrupted him, her eyes focused on Taeyong once again, and Taeyong closed his eyes before taking a sip of water. 

“We’re driving to the training center right now, where they will make you look ‘beautiful’.” 

Jeno scoffed, “And why is that?” 

Taeyong put his water bottle down onto the floor of the car before turning to look at the both of them with the most serious look he could muster. “As I’ve said before: wooing the capitol citizens and making them like you is one of your top priorities while you are here. You will need sponsors in the arena, and for that you need to make them like you. That’s what the parade is for, and the individual scoring.”

Yerim frowned, “The individual scoring? How come?” 

Taeyong bit his lip. When he was one of the twenty-four tributes destined to either come out of the arena alive and traumatized or die, Taeyong hadn’t thought the individual scoring was necessary, either. The citizens of the Capitol didn’t seem to care much about how well they fought, how well they could defend themselves, but later on, after Taeyong had come back from the Games with the scars of his last battle still etched onto his face, he realized what it had all meant. 

“For bets.” Taeyong answered and leaned back, watching as the knowledge sunk into their heads and made a light go off. 

“They place bets?” Jeno asked, one eyebrow raised in silent fury, and Taeyong could understand that. 

“They do. They place bets on who they think is going to win, and if they bet on you because your score was high, they will keep sending you things to stay alive.” Taeyong explained. He had gotten a few things in the arena himself, from a few sponsors Taeyong had met after the Games, and if he hadn’t gotten some of the things he had, he wouldn’t be alive right now. 

Yerim gasped, “So we need to get high scores during the individual scoring for that?” 

Taeyong nodded, a hum leaving his lips. “And make them like you during your interviews and the parade. The citizens need something to like, to hold onto while watching the games. If you have a group of Capitol citizens rooting for you, you might just make it.” 

Jeno scoffed, “Well then we’re fucked. District one, two and four will get most of those.” 

Yerim seemed to agree, her face morphing into one of terror, and Taeyong sighed. “That’s not necessarily true. I won, remember? And they usually don’t believe in wooing the Capitol like the other districts do. For them it’s all about winning, the prize money they get after. And the killing.” 

Taeyong tried not to think about his own experiences with the Career tributes, and instead focused back on Yerim who seemed to have gone paler with every passing second. 

“You either need to form an alliance with them or make sure you stay away from them, then.” Jeno commented, and Taeyong slouched his shoulders. Both Jeno and Yerim looked defeated already, Yerim more so than Jeno, and he felt the guilt already rising up his throat and pushing to come out in the form of Taeyong’s earlier breakfast. 

“That’s not necessarily true, but also not wrong.” 

They had watched the other Reapings, had seen the other tributes briefly, and so Taeyong had expected for Yerim to pull a face. The tributes for districts one, two and four had looked absolutely terrifying, to say the least, and Taeyong would have feared having to take them on himself if he was being honest. 

“We’re dead.” Yerim stated, and Taeyong could see tears brimming in her eyes, and he shook her head. He couldn’t tell them that they were guaranteed to make it, for the Games could only have one winner, but Taeyong was determined to help them as much as he could. 

“You’re not. I’m not allowed to place bets or sponsor any of the tributes, but I will do my best to get you whatever you need. I promise.” 

Jeno nodded, “Thank you.”

He didn’t look as scared as Yerim did, but Taeyong knew that every single one of them, whether they came from district one or twelve, were terrified to step foot in the arena. 

Taeyong wanted to say more but he stopped himself as they rolled into the car park underneath the training center. Yerim and Jeno were looking around with wide eyes once more, and Taeyong wished he could tell them to go home. They looked too innocent to be here, with far too much potential that would lead them far in life, but Taeyong knew he couldn’t.

And the thought was heartbreaking.

“Oh dear, oh dear. You look _fabulous_.” Taeyong watched as Baekhyun flocked to Yerim and Jeno, who stood next to their chariot. Yerim was petting one of the beautiful black horses, completely too distracted to even notice Baekhyun, but Baekhyun didn’t seem to mind. One of Yerim’s stylists, Wendy, beamed though, a smile on her face so bright that Taeyong was starting to think that perhaps she had it permanently done to never stop smiling. 

Jeno was still surrounded by his own stylists, and Taeyong watched from a small distance. Jeno looked a bit uncomfortable with the attention that was on him, but Taeyong couldn’t exactly disagree with what Baekhyun had said. 

Both Yerim and Jeno did look good, their costumes meant to represent their district. It was the usual pattern that was supposed to represent trees, but both Jaemin and Wendy had put a little twist on it. Yerim wore a flowy dress with the patterns of the bark of a tree, something that was usually skin tight, and her headpiece represented branches and leaves. The leaves were lined with glitter — Taeyong doubted they were real crystals, considering the fact that district seven didn’t have crystals — and every time she moved her head, the light reflected off of it. 

Jeno was wearing a similar outfit. He wasn’t wearing a top, his skin painted to represent the bark of a tree instead, and his bottoms were the color of leaves in the autumn. Jeno’s chest was also lined with golden body paint, glimmering every time he moved, and Taeyong remembered how he had worn a similar outfit during his Tributeparade. 

He had been terrified at the time, to present himself in front of hundreds of thousands of people, not only from within the Capitol but from every district in Panem. The weight Taeyong had felt resting upon his shoulders had never truly left him, not even when he stepped off of his pedestal after the clock had hit zero, and Taeyong was worried Yerim was going to collapse under the weight of it. 

Taeyong couldn’t see the color of her face under the paint and make-up, but he knew that she was terrified. Taeyong didn’t have to read her mind to know that. 

Taeyong sighed and rolled his shoulders before making his presence known by walking forward, allowing for Jeno and Yerim to spot him before he said anything. Taeyong turned to Jaemin and Wendy, and nodded at them. “You did a good job.” 

“Thank you, Taeyong. May I say your suit looks wonderful?” Jaemin smiled at him, his lips coated a bright blue, and Taeyong hummed. His suit wasn’t anything special, a dark green to keep with the theme of trees, but he appreciated the compliment nonetheless. 

The other tributes from all the other districts were still walking in, surrounded by their own group of stylists and the likes, and Taeyong watched them all walk in while he talked to Jeno and Yerim, listened to what Jaemin and Wendy had to say about their outfits and waited for the order for the tributes to take their positions.

Taeyong recognized the mentors that followed. He saw Johnny, the most recent winner for district four that he had become somewhat friends with, and Johnny waved at him quickly before moving along to find his own tributes. 

Taeyong’s breath hitched as he watched Doyoung Kim walk through the doors of one of the elevators, clad in a red velvet suit. He had seen Doyoung a couple times, spoken to him a handful of those times, and had learned so little about the man in the process. Taeyong knew that Doyoung worked in the Capitol, was born and raised in the luxuries of it, and made use of said luxuries however he wanted. 

He was able to do such, as well, for Taeyong knew that the residents of the Capitol took great pleasure in Doyoung’s wonderful voice and his stage-presence. Taeyong couldn’t say he blamed them. 

They met when Taeyong was at the presidential home, on the last day of his Tour, and Taeyong couldn’t say he hadn’t thought about the man, since. Taeyong knew that Doyoung didn’t work for the Games, for he took great pleasure in betting on the tributes every year, and he was one of the most well-known sponsors. Perhaps that was part of the reason why he was there, on the floor with all of them. To meet the tributes. 

Taeyong was about to turn his head to look back at Jeno and Yerim when Doyoung looked his way and their eyes met. Doyoung merely smirked at him before pulling his eyes off of Taeyong, and Taeyong felt his skin crawl. 

“There’s a lot of people here.” Jeno said, pulling Taeyong’s attention away from the spot where Doyoung had stood a few seconds prior. 

“Well of course! Every tribute has their own team, just like you guys do! Nobody gets treated differently, don’t worry about that!” Baekhyun commented, as if that was the thing Jeno had been wondering about. Whether all the tributes were getting treated equally. 

It reminded Taeyong of how Baekhyun had told Siyeon and him something similar when they were led to their Tribute apartment on their very first night in the Capitol. How no tribute was different from the other. 

Taeyong could see on Jeno’s face that he didn’t agree with Baekhyun, but he didn’t open his mouth again. Before Taeyong could say something, the signal echoed through the hall like the alarm that signaled the Reaping in each and every district, and Jeno and Yerim stiffened instantly. 

“Smile and wave, alright? I know it may sound and feel ridiculous, but you _need_ to smile and wave.” 

“I’m not going to smile at them.” Yerim whispered, allowing for Jaemin to help her onto the chariot, and Taeyong sighed. 

“You need to. If you want to seem likeable enough to get sponsors, you need to smile. Pretend you want to be here, that you feel honored. That’s what they want to see.” Taeyong continued, urging Jeno into the chariot as well. “This is one of your only shots to make the public like you.” 

Jeno and Yerim looked at Taeyong as if he was insane, but Taeyong didn’t care. If he wanted to have any sort of help with getting these two sponsors, they needed to put the foundation there, first. If the public didn’t like them from the beginning, the chances of Taeyong being able to convince the sponsors to give either Jeno or Yerim a helping hand in the arena were absolutely zero. 

“We need to go.” Taeyong heard Baekhyun’s voice from behind him, and he sighed. He gave Jeno and Yerim one more look before he allowed himself to be pulled away by Jaemin, Wendy and Baekhyun, who were already deeply woven into a conversation about a certain designer from the Capitol Taeyong had no idea about. 

His eyes travelled the hall one more time, finding Doyoung talking to some of the career tributes with a smile on his face, and Taeyong felt his heart sink. If Doyoung had already planned on sponsoring them, there was only a tiny chance left that Taeyong could convince the other sponsors to help Jeno or Yerim, instead. 

Doyoung seemed to sense that somebody was looking at him, for his head suddenly turned into Taeyong’s direction, and Taeyong shivered before pulling away, the sight of Doyoung’s lip and nose ring glistening in the artificial light of the hall branding itself into his memory before Baekhyun pulled him away and officially out of the hall. 

The apartment that was supposed to be Taeyong’s home for the next few weeks was quiet. Yerim and Jeno had left for their training in the basement of the Tributecenter, and Baekhyun was presumably back in bed. Taeyong knew Baekhyun well enough to know that the man valued his sleep, even if that meant having breakfast with his tributes and going back to bed right after. 

Taeyong couldn’t see into the training room. None of the mentors were allowed to watch or help their tributes train until the very last day, and it always left Taeyong with too much time on his hands. 

He could go to the Sponsors-hall, where some of the most well-respected Capitol citizens would be, viewing the scoreboard every second of every day, but Taeyong didn’t want to do that. Not yet. 

The scores would be rather low, still, and Taeyong had found that sponsors were more likely to look at some of the ‘under-dog’ districts — Baekhyun’s choice of words, not his — when the individual scoring had taken place and had proven their worth. 

Taeyong still remembered what it had been like to walk into the training hall by himself, without the Capitol assigned coaches, without the other tributes. It was awful, nerve wracking, and Taeyong’s score hadn’t been the highest. It had been a low seven, but Taeyong had managed with it well enough. 

He felt anxious not knowing what Jeno and Yerim were doing, how they were behaving toward the other tributes. Taeyong felt this every single time he was forced to stay in the Tributecenter, and he hated it. Many of the mentors that Taeyong had grown friendly with — sort of — would be spending their time shopping, perhaps, or spending time with their Capitol made friends. 

Taeyong didn’t have such friends, nor did he find it appropriate to spend his time shopping while his tributes were training extremely hard to prevent their own deaths. Not all of the mentors were like that, Taeyong knew, but most of the Careers were. They didn’t need to worry, after all, for their tributes were already well trained and prepared in combat. 

Their usual downfall, Taeyong had noticed over the years, was the lack of survival skills. They were terrifying at the Cornucopia, ready to murder anyone who got in their way, and it was usually the moment where most of the tributes died, but after that it was everyone for themselves. That’s when survival skills would come into play, and Taeyong hoped that Jeno and Yerim had listened to his advice and weren’t only taking combat training. 

Taeyong sighed, putting down the remote he had been holding, and he turned around. A walk couldn’t hurt him, some fresh air, and without giving it another thought Taeyong walked out of the apartment, into the hallway and down to the elevator. 

He stopped dead in his tracks, though, when he saw someone standing at the elevator already, waiting for the doors to slide open. Taeyong’s breath hitched as he recognized Doyoung’s side profile, the necklace around his neck the same as he had worn at the Tributeparade the night before, and Taeyong found himself wanting to kiss the skin under the heavy looking crystals. 

It didn’t surprise Taeyong, the way his mind seemed to yearn for Doyoung’s touch, but he tried to push it away all the same. His attraction to Doyoung wasn’t new, necessarily. Taeyong had spoken to him a handful of times, the sound of Doyoung’s voice forever etched into his brain, and despite the fact that Doyoung enjoyed betting on tributes in something as ruthless as the Games, he was a nice person to talk to. 

“Nice to see you here, Taeyong.” Taeyong’s eyes widened at the sound of Doyoung’s voice, the low fibre of it taking Taeyong away from his own thoughts and putting him right back on his feet in the hallway. 

“Hello, Doyoung.” Taeyong greeted him, taking the last few steps toward the elevator, and soon enough they were standing next to one another, their shoulders barely touching. “How have you been?” 

Doyoung hummed, shrugging. “I’ve been alright. What about you?”

It was a dumb question, a terrible question, and Taeyong wondered if Doyoung was either oblivious to the bags under Taeyong’s eyes or simply didn’t care to worry about it much. 

“Apart from the Games, of course. I heard your garden is coming along nicely.” 

For a second Taeyong wondered who had told Doyoung about the garden he was trying to grow in his backyard, until he realized that Doyoung and Taeyong’s old mentor, Taeil, were friends. Taeil had helped Taeyong with his garden a little bit, whenever he had time, and the garden was starting to grow nicely. “It is, yeah. Taeil has helped a lot.” 

“Do you have specific plans?” Taeyong then asked, the elevator doors finally opening. He could see Doyoung shaking his head in the reflection of the glass, and he sighed. He wanted to ask Doyoung to maybe grab a bite with him, just to spend time with the beautiful man, but he feared that if he asked Doyoung would laugh. 

“Not really. I was going to get a coffee. Care to join?” 

For a second, Taeyong thought Doyoung had read his mind. He felt guilty for grabbing a coffee while his tributes were training, but there was nothing he could do for them. Not today, at least. Tomorrow, Taeyong would spend the entire day trying to convince sponsors to look at Yerim and Jeno, to help them, but there was nothing he could do right now. Not when their scores were too low for sponsors to even notice them. 

“Yeah— yeah alright.” 

“Great! I’ve wanted to talk to you more ever since the last time.” 

Taeyong felt a flush rise to his cheeks and he hoped Doyoung couldn’t see it. The last time Doyoung and him had spoken was last year, in the Sponsors-lounge just a few hours before the Games ended. Taeyong hadn’t seen Doyoung throughout the entire Games, but he had shown up a few hours before the end. Perhaps to watch the spectacle, Taeyong didn’t know. 

“Really?” Taeyong asked, and he hated how shaky his voice sounded. “I didn’t know.” 

Doyoung chuckled, the sound like music to Taeyong’s ears. “Well, how could you? You were a bit of a mess—”

Taeyong frowned, but before he could say something the elevator doors opened again and they were on the ground floor, Doyoung holding up his hand. “Rightfully so, of course. I can’t imagine what that must feel like, the responsibility for two teenagers heading into an arena to either be killed or lose their sanity.”

Taeyong wanted to ask why Doyoung watched, then. Why he sponsored and placed bets on the tributes, but he felt like that would either ruin the conversation, or make Doyoung confess to something dark that Taeyong didn’t want to know. Taeyong knew that he was attracted to Doyoung and that he wanted Doyoung to perhaps fuck him, but if Doyoung turned out to be one of those people who enjoyed watching these kids get killed, Taeyong wasn’t planning on getting another coffee with Doyoung after this. 

“It’s not fun.” Taeyong answered, for he really didn’t feel like talking about it. He feared that if they started, Taeyong wouldn’t be able to stop and he really, really didn’t want to tell Doyoung about the recurring nightmares of Taeyong’s axe sinking into the chest of a seventeen year old girl from district five. Or the numerous other deaths that Taeyong had witnessed, had seen or experienced. 

Any loud sound reminded Taeyong of a cannon in the arena, and he always found himself looking around when he heard something that sounded close to what a cannon sounded like, as if he was the one that had died. 

“Yeah, I can’t imagine it being fun at all. What do you do for fun?” Doyoung asked as they walked through the entrance to the Tributecenter, the outside air making Taeyong’s head feel slightly better almost instantly. 

Taeyong shrugged, his feet following Doyoung for he had no idea where they were going. “I bake, sometimes. And garden, as you know.” 

“There’s twenty-four hours in a day, surely you do more than that?” Doyoung didn’t sound accusatory or like he was talking down on Taeyong, but Taeyong couldn’t help but feel like he was. Taeyong didn’t have the heart to tell Doyoung that if he wasn’t doing that, he was either taking walks in the forest to try and _forget_ , or spending time with the families of the tributes that he had failed to protect. 

Or being passed around by people because the president said so. It didn’t happen as often anymore, but every now and then Taeyong would receive a phone call and a place to be, and while Taeyong hated it, he was usually presented with a huge sum of money and he donated that, always. That was what made it worth it, truly, and the worry in the families’ eyes of those he donated the money to was something Taeyong pretended he didn’t see. It were never bodily favors, luckily, but Taeyong hated attending the parties and dinners nonetheless. 

“Yeah, I read, sometimes. What do you do?” 

Taeyong had no idea where they were going, hadn’t spent much time outside of buildings whenever he was in the Capitol, but he followed Doyoung dutily. The streets were filled with people, dressed up in all sorts of odd colours and outfits, and while Taeyong was looking around, still amazed after so many years, Doyoung didn’t seem fazed at all. 

“Besides work— I usually play golf with friends or read, too.” 

Taeyong wasn’t sure why the fact that Doyoung read books surprised him, but it did. Perhaps he had expected for Doyoung to do more serious things, but Taeyong wasn’t even sure what that was. “Really? Golf?” 

Doyoung chuckled, shaking his head. “Yeah, golf. There’s a golf-course close to my apartment.” 

Taeyong could imagine the lavishness of Doyoung’s apartment. Expensive furniture, crystals and fabrics that cost more than what some people earned chopping wood in district seven in their entire lives. Part of him was angry at Doyoung for spending that much money, but he also knew that Doyoung didn’t choose the divide between the Capitol and the districts. Doyoung had nothing to do with it, was born in the Capitol and raised with its morals, much like every other Capitol citizen. 

Taeyong smiled, a sudden surge of boldness coursing through his veins and before he could stop it, his mouth was already open. “Maybe you could teach me sometime?” 

Doyoung seemed surprised, even if he didn’t show it for long, but he nodded. “Yes, I think I will.” 

Taeyong, for the first time ever since becoming a mentor, had something to do during the hours that his tributes were gone. It didn’t occupy his entire day and there was plenty of time left to worry about them, to get into his head to the point where Baekhyun had to force him to take a hot shower before Jeno and Yerim returned for dinner, but the coffee dates with Doyoung were nice. 

Talking with Doyoung was nice and easy. It had been the same when they met for the first time, and Taeyong was surprised to know that Doyoung had never lost that ability. The ability to make someone feel comfortable around them, no matter what the circumstances were. 

Taeyong heaved a sigh, allowing for the boiling water to turn his skin a bright red and make his cold feet hurt. He closed his eyes and pressed a random button in the third row of the shower panel, the scent of roses hitting his nose shortly after, and Taeyong couldn’t bring himself to care. 

The individual scoring was today, and Taeyong could feel his anxiety eating him up from the inside. He needed Jeno and Yerim to do good, to give themselves a chance in the arena. There was a part of Taeyong that knew that most of it was false hope, that the chances of one of them winning were small compared to the other tributes. 

The crushing reminder that there was no chance of the two of them both surviving had hit Taeyong this morning. That he couldn’t save them both, no matter how hard he would try. Even if Yerim won, he would have lost Jeno. If Jeno won, Taeyong would have to go home with the knowledge that Yerim’s death was his fault. And, he would have to deal with Jeno’s guilt, too, for Taeyong knew what it was like to return home with the death of a fellow-district member on your shoulders. 

Taeyong had seen Siyeon’s parents. Their faces stricken with grief, with pain and envy as Taeyong stepped off of the platform and hugged his father. Taeyong knew that it would never bring their daughter back, but he always gave them what they needed. He owed them that much. 

Siyeon’s flower, along with the flowers of the tributes Taeyong had beaten during his Games and the ones he had lost as a mentor, were blossoming nicely in Taeyong’s garden at home, and Taeyong took great comfort from that. 

The roses reminded him of them, though, and so he pressed the button to turn the shower off, the sudden cold making his skin shiver. Taeyong didn’t have to wait long for the warm wind to come out of the vents, drying him as he walked out of the shower and took hold of the towel that he had put there before getting into the shower cabin. 

Taeyong pressed his face into the softness of the towel and he remembered how, after his first shower in the Capitol, he hadn’t wanted to put the towel away. It had been the softest thing Taeyong had felt, had held onto in his entire life. Taeyong had been convinced he was going to die in a few days time, and so the towel had been a comfort piece of some sort despite how odd that must have been. 

When Taeyong turned around he was greeted with clothes already waiting for him, and he managed to find it in himself to smile. Baekhyun was impeccable when it came to his work, always, and he wanted everyone around him to be the same. Taeyong had grown used to Baekhyun picking out his clothes for him whenever they were in the Capitol, and he didn’t mind. 

He slipped into the clothes and looked in the mirror, a frown on his face. He almost looked like a Capitol resident, the silver-linings on the jacket nearly mocking him, but Taeyong didn’t have the heart to take it off and choose something else, and so he carded a hand through his blonde hair and left the bathroom with a heavy heart. 

“Morning, sleepyhead!” Baekhyun’s voice greeted him when Taeyong walked into the dining room, Jeno and Yerim already eating. He nodded at Baekhyun before taking his seat, an Avox at his side to pour him a coffee almost instantly. 

“Morning— thank you.” The Avox didn’t move, her expression as blank as always, but Taeyong didn’t mind. He knew that they weren’t allowed to show appreciation, but that didn’t mean that he couldn’t show them the same. 

“Did you guys sleep well?” Taeyong then asked, turning to look at Jeno and Yerim across from him. Jeno was already halfway done with his plate while Yerim was poking her food around on her plate, and Taeyong frowned. “Eat, Yerim, you’re going to need your strength today.” 

“What if we get low scores?” She asked, putting her fork down before looking at Taeyong with an emotion in her eyes that Taeyong could only recognize to be fear. He leaned across the table and took hold of her hand, squeezing it. 

“You won—”

“What if we do? What if we get a five?” Jeno interrupted Taeyong, and Taeyong wished he was home. Not in the Victors Village, but in the bed that his father had made for him when he had grown big enough to sleep in a grown-up bed. The one that stood at the end of his parents’ bed, because they only had one bedroom. Before Taeyong had to worry about the Reaping at all. 

“That’s no—”

“It’s a terrible score.” Yerim interrupted Baekhyun, who looked at her with his mouth agape as if he hadn’t expected for her to snap at him.

Taeyong pulled back from her, shaking his head. “It’s not. There are a multitude of Victors that had terrible individual scores but still received gifts from sponsors and won the Games.” 

“What the lowest it has ever been?” Jeno asked, and Taeyong was grateful that Jeno’s eyes were focused on Baekhyun and not on him. Baekhyun raised an eyebrow in thought, raising his fork to his mouth with a bite of egg as he did so. 

“I believe there was a girl from district twelve who received a two for her individual scoring. If I remember correctly she was part of the twenty-fourth Hunger Games.” He answered, his voice casual as if he wasn’t talking about the death of a child. Taeyong bit his lip before turning to his plate, the eggs and sausages suddenly looking far less good than they had before. 

“She didn’t win, did she?” Yerim asked, her voice back to her usual soft voice, and Baekhyun frowned. 

“I didn’t watch those games myself, you know. I’m not _that_ old,” Taeyong rolled his eyes. Baekhyun was thirty-two, going on thirty-three, so Baekhyun wasn’t old at all. He kept his mouth shut, though, for he felt like his tributes were in dire need of some reassurance that Taeyong couldn’t give. “But I think my father told me she was very close to winning.” 

“See,” Taeyong butted in, “Some tributes choose to hide their talents up until the moment they get into the arena.” 

“But we’re not doing that, so if we get bad scores, that’s on us.” Jeno commented, and Taeyong closed his eyes. He felt irritation growing under his skin and the sudden need to talk to Doyoung and hear his calming voice grew, but he stopped himself from snapping at them. These kids were entering the arena in two days.

“You won’t get bad scores. I’ve seen the videos of your training, remember? Jeno, your axe skills will certainly get you a score higher than eight. Throw them at one of the targets, they will have those. And you, Yerim, use the knives you have been training with. Both of you can use a bow, as well, so switch halfway through.” Taeyong rambled, eyeing his tributes for any signs of disagreement, but they seemed a little calmer. 

“You don’t have to get perfect tens.” Baekhyun commented, making Taeyong look at him with a raised eyebrow. Baekhyun huffed, “What? A perfect ten is incredibly hard to get! With a six or a seven you will still get sponsors, won’t you?” 

Taeyong hated how oblivious Baekhyun could be to the work and effort it took to get sponsors to actually _care_ about the tributes, but he supposed it was normal for someone who had grown up in an environment that viewed the Games as nothing but entertainment. Baekhyun had his moments, like when they were on the train, where he worried about his tributes. Taeyong knew that Baekhyun was worried now, too, and perhaps the unbounding positivity was a coping-mechanism. 

Taeyong could learn something from that, he realized. 

“Is he right?” Jeno asked, turning back to Taeyong, and all Taeyong could do was nod. He wasn’t going to tell them that it made it harder to get sponsors and betters to care, to gain trust in that they would win. They didn’t need that, not right now. Not ever. 

“He is.” 

Taeyong watched as Jeno and Yerim continued to eat, Baekhyun firing question after question about how they were experiencing the Capitol, what they liked to do back at home and many, many other things. Taeyong just sat and listened as Jeno told Baekhyun about his days in the forest, working on the trees. Yerim even shared a story of her father teaching her how to handle a knife, and for a second Taeyong felt like they weren’t in the Capitol, like the two young teenagers in front of him weren’t going to fight twenty-two other teenagers to the death in less than two days. 

Taeyong really wanted to go see Doyoung and allow for the man to distract him, but Taeyong knew that he couldn’t do that, not today. He needed to go to the Sponsors-lounge and sweet-talk, interact with people who couldn’t care less about any of the tributes. Not really, anyway.

Taeyong had noticed that the Capitol had taken a liking to Jeno’s kind smile, one he had shown during the Tributeparade. A few other tributes had gathered their fair share of attention as well, but Jeno being one of them made it a little easier for Taeyong in the long run. It was Yerim who he was worried about, really, and he hated it. Yerim’s parents had looked absolutely terrified when they said goodbye to one of their two daughters, and Taeyong wished he could get her back home safely, without a scratch. 

When the Avox’ started clearing the table, Jeno and Yerim both left without a word, their shoulders slumped and anxiety in their eyes. Taeyong watched them walk to their bedrooms where their training clothes would be laid out, and he sighed before throwing his head back. 

“How do you think they are going to do?” 

Taeyong groaned, shaking his head. “I have no idea.” 

“The public seems to love Jeno.” 

Taeyong huffed, wiping at his eyes. Baekhyun was right, of course, but he wished he wouldn’t say it out loud. “I hope they will love him enough.” 

“I’m sure they will. I need to go run some errands and Chanyeol has asked to meet for lunch. After that I have an appointment with Chenle, Jaemin and Jungwoo to discuss Jeno’s outfit for his interview tonight, and after that I have a meeting with Wendy, Minjeong and Jaehyun about the same thing. What are you going to do?” 

Taeyong closed his eyes, the list that Baekhyun had given him already exhausting and he wasn’t even the one who had to go through all of that. “Sponsors-lounge. I’m going to be there all day.” 

Baekhyun hummed, “So no Doyoung today?” 

Taeyong groaned, shaking his head. He wasn’t even going to ask how Baekhyun knew that. The guy had eyes and ears everywhere. “No Doyoung today.” 

“Unless he’s down there as well, of course.” 

Taeyong hadn’t even thought about that. The prospect of seeing Doyoung in the middle of all of those people filled him with warmth. It would make the day a lot easier, if Taeyong was being honest, but he wasn’t going to put his faith in that just yet.

“Say hello to Chanyeol for me, will you?” 

Baekhyun let out a loud chuckle, echoing through the dining room, and Taeyong managed to find it in himself to let out one, too. Baekhyun looked giddy at the thought of his husband and Taeyong thought it was quite cute, so he didn’t say anything. Instead, he stood up from his seat and walked to the door, holding it open for Baekhyun. 

“Thank you. And of course I will! He still wants a revanche in poker, by the way.” 

Taeyong shook his head, “Soon.” 

The semi-good mood that Baekhyun had managed to get Taeyong in fizzled away during the rest of the day. Taeyong was standing around the lounge, making small talk with several of the sponsors who recognized him and fawned over him, and even going as far as speaking to some of the mentors that were also there, watching the screen that displayed the tributes’ names and information.

Taeyong had made some good acquaintances over the years, but the only other victor that Taeyong had met that he considered to be more of a friend rather than an acquaintance was Johnny, who had dropped by for a conversation about an hour ago before leaving again. 

Taeyong could see several mentors standing together, laughing and chatting from where he was seated on one of the barstools by the bar. Taeyong had never managed to really become friends with the other victors, no matter how hard he had tried. 

It had been difficult at first, accepting that this was now Taeyong’s life. That he would be paraded around every single year until district seven had another Victor, someone who would take Taeyong’s place as mentor. Taeyong knew though that even then he wouldn’t be able to live in peace, for he would be forced to join the new mentor for their first year of teaching tributes and after, Taeyong doubted he would be left alone. 

Taeyong sighed, taking one last sip of his drink and emptying the glass. He couldn’t see either Jeno or Yerim as mentors for other tributes. Truthfully, Taeyong didn’t want them to become one. He didn’t want to teach either of them how to deal with the loss that comes with watching one of your tributes die. Taeyong doubted he could do that. 

Nobody deserved such a life and Taeyong knew that. He wished that he could take them both home, return them to their families safely and go on with his life. But Taeyong knew he couldn’t do that. He knew that he would have to watch them fight to the death, standing on their pedestals as they wait for the countdown to reach zero. He would have to watch them either die or try to survive on the same screen that he was watching now, their names displayed on screens as if they weren’t humans at all. 

Taeyong had to leave in about an hour if he wanted to be in the apartment for when Jeno and Yerim would come back, and so he put down his glass on the bar and stood up. He had been able to talk to some sponsors, putting on one of his best smiles and telling stories about how well Jeno could handle an axe and how amazing Yerim was with her knives, and while Taeyong wasn’t confident that they would actually help once the Games started, he felt like he couldn’t do more for either of them until their scores were released. 

If Taeyong learned anything from the past few years it’s that while it can be good to warm sponsors up toward your tributes and have the tributes make the public like them, it’s what they do in the Games that matters most. Most of the mentors seemed to realize as such and Taeyong could see district one and two leaving already, but some stayed in the lounge and continued to chat up the ridiculously dressed people in the room. 

Before Taeyong could make up his mind about whether he was going to leave as well, he felt a hand on his shoulder. “Pleasure seeing you here.” 

Taeyong froze instantly, his hand going to his thigh on instinct before realizing that he didn’t have his axe strapped to his leg and that he wasn’t hidden behind a tree as he waited for the boy from district nine to walk past him. He gasped, trying to shake the feeling off before facing Doyoung for the first time today, but when Taeyong turned around Doyoung was frowning, as if he had noticed Taeyong’s reaction. 

“I shouldn’t have scared you like that, sorry.” 

Taeyong shook his head, flashing a small smile. His heart was still rapidly beating in his chest and it reminded Taeyong of the nightmare he had had that night that left him lying awake for about an hour before sleep finally managed to catch him again, but he didn’t want Doyoung to know that. 

“It’s okay. Pleasure seeing you here, too.” Taeyong hadn’t really broached the subject of his own Games with Doyoung during their coffee dates, and Taeyong wasn’t sure whether they would ever reach that subject before Taeyong left the Capitol behind once more, either with the death of his two tributes weighing on his shoulders or the death of one and the responsibility of another nearly making him crumble to the ground. 

Doyoung had watched Taeyong’s Games, of course. One of the first sentences that Doyoung had ever spoken to him was praise of how well he did during the last two days of the Games, and while Taeyong knew he should have seen it as a compliment, it only made him hate himself more at the time.

“You were about to leave, weren’t you?” Doyoung asked, putting his glas down on the bar next to where Taeyong’s empty glass stood. Taeyong shrugged before nodding. His heart was starting to beat quicker for a whole other reason as he noticed that a few of the people around them were staring at them, unapologetically pointing at the two of them. If Doyoung had noticed, he didn’t say anything about it. 

“I was. Jeno and Yerim could be getting back any time now and I want to be there.” Taeyong couldn’t hide the nervousness in his voice. He hoped they had done well, that they had managed to convince the Gamemakers that they were worth their salt, but there was no use speculating about it when he could easily go back to the apartment and wait for them to return. 

“I’m confident they did great.”

“I hope so. If they did what I told them to do they’ll be fine.” Taeyong said, turning his head slightly to eye the crowd gathered across the hall. There were a few people still watching them every now and then and Taeyong could feel eyes on him on his back, but he tried not to let it show on his face. 

He forgot how well-known Doyoung was. He was a celebrity among the higher-ranks of the Capitol, hired to sing at private parties and in the President’s Mansion, and so these people knew exactly who he was. It was gratifying, though, that Doyoung only seemed to have attention for Taeyong despite the onlookers. 

“I don’t doubt that for a second,” Doyoung said, flashing Taeyong a smile before laying a hand on Taeyong’s shoulder again, squeezing. Taeyong frowned, but before he could say anything, Doyoung spoke up again. “Would it be alright if I came with you? I haven’t spoken to Baekhyun in ages and I would love to meet Jeno and Yerim.” 

Taeyong’s eyes widened. He wasn’t sure what the proper etiquette was when it came to inviting people into the tribute apartments, but he supposed that it couldn’t hurt. Taeyong just hoped that Doyoung didn’t think he was only talking to him, sometimes even flirting with the man, in order to get a sponsor for both Yerim and Jeno. He genuinely liked Doyoung, had grown fond of him during the four coffee dates they had had, and he didn’t want to ruin things. 

“Uh — of course! I’m sure they wouldn’t mind and Baekhyun would love to see you.” Taeyong wondered what the stylists would think, but before he could really worry about that Doyoung dropped his hand from Taeyong’s shoulder and instead reached for Taeyong’s hand, taking hold of it with such certainty that Taeyong didn’t even think of pulling it back despite the eyes that were on them. 

“Alright, great. Shall we go then?” 

Baekhyun was already back by the time Doyoung and Taeyong reached the seventh floor apartment. Taeyong cleared his throat when Baekhyun didn’t notice him, his eyes focused on the televisions screen in the living area of the apartment, and he watched as Baekhyun turned his head with his lips open around a snarky remark before his face morphed into a smile and he jumped off of the couch. 

“Doyoung!” 

“Baekhyun!,” Doyoung exclaimed, a smile on his face, before he pulled Baekhyun into a short hug. It felt like two old friends reuniting and perhaps that was the case, Taeyong wasn’t entirely sure for how long Baekhyun and Doyoung had known each other, after all. “How are you?”

Baekhyun pulled back, letting go of Doyoung. A knot in Taeyong’s chest uncurled again, as if someone managed to untie it, and Taeyong hadn’t even been aware it was there. “Oh you know, the usual. Busy as can be! What about you? Any new performances?”

“You’re not getting free tickets, Baek.” Doyoung joked, and Baekhyun waved him off. 

“You know I would just buy one, silly. Chanyeol and I are going to your performance in the Hall of Glimmers, you know? We’re both very excited.” 

Taeyong raised an eyebrow. Before he knew it, he was taking a step forward and standing shoulder to shoulder with Doyoung again. “You’re performing?”

Doyoung turned to look at him, his smile kind, and Taeyong felt the stupid butterflies return. “Yeah, a couple weeks from now after the Games. I’m on a break for now.”

“You should totally come, Taeyong!” 

Taeyong wasn’t sure whether he would be emotionally stable enough to stay in the Capitol after the Games, but he doubted that any of the two standing next to him would understand. He shrugged, instead. “Maybe.”

Before any of them could say anything else, the front door opened again. Taeyong whipped his head around to look at who had come in, relieved to see Jeno and Yerim standing there, still dressed in their training jumpsuits. Yerim’s forehead was beading with sweat as if she had just run a marathon, while Jeno’s face was calm, collected. 

Taeyong preferred Yerim’s state, the knowledge that they had just returned from their individual Scoring hitting him once more. Doyoung had been a great distraction for a little bit, but Taeyong was still a mentor. He needed to take care of the two teenagers standing at the door, and the guilt that filled him for allowing Doyoung to be a distraction was nearly too overwhelming. 

“Jeno, Yerim!” Baekhyun exclaimed, pushing Doyoung and Taeyong aside. Taeyong went willingly, allowing for the distance between Doyoung and him to push air back into his lungs. “How are you?” 

Yerim scoffed before Taeyong could ask them how things had gone, shaking her head. Her hair was no longer tied back into a tight ponytail, instead flowing across her shoulders, and Taeyong watched as she crossed her arms across her chest. “Miserable. I don’t think I’ve ever missed that many targets. Ever.”

Taeyong felt his heart sink in his chest. “I’m sure that’s not true.” 

Yerim looked at him. “You’ll see tonight.” 

“I highly doubt it will be a low grade. What about you, Jeno?” Taeyong turned to look at Jeno. Jeno looked like he hadn’t trained at all, like he wasn’t tired, and it terrified Taeyong. There was the occasional tribute who, out of protest, didn’t do anything during the individual scoring. This often resulted in no sponsors and an early death, and Taeyong hoped to everything and everyone he knew that Jeno hadn’t made that decision. ‘

“It went alright, I think. Showed them my combat with an axe.” He answered, and Taeyong sighed in relief. 

“I’m sure both of you did great.” 

Yerim shook her head once more. “Do we have a guest?”

Taeyong’s body shook back to life and he nodded, motioning to Doyoung still standing next to him, a small smile on the man’s face. “This is Doyoung Kim, one of the best singers the Capitol has ever seen.” 

“Are you friends?” Yerim pursed her lips together, squinting her eyes, and Taeyong felt like he was being judged for even standing next to Doyoung at all. 

“We are.” Doyoung answered, “Lovely to meet you two. You both looked great at the Parade.” 

That seemed to unfreeze Baekhyun as well, who had only listened to the conversation. “Didn’t they? Wendy and Jaemin really outdid themselves!” 

“You watched us?” Jeno asked, shifting to lean against the wall next to him. 

Doyoung nodded, humming. “Certainly. I have high hopes for both of you.” 

“Are you a sponsor?” 

“Yerim!” Baekhyun exclaimed, like a mother scolding her child, and Taeyong felt bad for chuckling. 

“What?” 

“It’s alright, Baekhyun. And to answer your question — yes, yes I am.” Doyoung didn’t seem fazed at all by Yerim’s semi-rude question. Instead, he looked as if he was proud of it, one hand in the pocket of his pants. 

Before Taeyong could stop himself, he moved in front of Doyoung. “Why don’t you two take a shower? Jungwoo, Chenle and Jaemin will be here for you soon, Jeno.” Jeno raised an eyebrow before nodding, waving a hand at both Doyoung and Baekhyun before taking the corridor to the left to his bedroom. Taeyong turned to Yerim, who was eyeing Taeyong with a look in her eyes that Taeyong couldn’t quite place. “Wendy, Minjeong and Jaehyun will be here for you soon, too. Take a shower, too.” 

“Alright, fine.” Yerim said before walking past Baekhyun, Doyoung and Taeyong himself to make her way to her room. 

“You’re worried again, aren’t you?” 

Taeyong turned his head to look at Baekhyun, and he nodded. “Yeah, yeah I am.” 

Doyoung raised an eyebrow. “Why?” 

Taeyong scoffed, shaking his head. “Because they’re going to die. I’ve seen the other tributes and their physiques.” 

Taeyong felt a hand on his shoulder, the hand squeezing his skin, and he sighed. He felt ridiculous complaining about it in front of two men who had grown up watching the Games as entertainment. Taeyong doubted they, of all people, would understand. 

He had had this conversation with Johnny, the only person Taeyong was remotely close with that would understand him. The terrifying responsibility of keeping two teenagers alive even though you know that at least one of them had to die. Johnny had a bit of a drinking problem because of it, Taeyong knew, and Taeil had shut himself in his house until the Peacekeepers were forced to pull him out when he hadn’t shown up to the second Reaping he was supposed to attend as a mentor. 

There was only a small, specific pool of people who understood the pain a mentor had to feel every time one of their Tributes died, and Taeyong wasn’t even counting the mentors for the Career districts. They took pride in attending, in being a Tribute and dying in the Games was the second to highest honor. 

Taeyong had seen the districts only a handful of times, but he remembered it well. During his Tour, most parents of fallen tributes were crying or looked as if they were going to cry the second they were alone. The parents of the Careers, on the other hand, stood with their chests out and heads raised, as if they had something to prove. As if they were proud of the fact that their children had died during the Games. 

Later on, of course, Taeyong learned that that had been the exact case. 

“Don’t say that, Taeyong. They might have refined combat skills —” 

“But their survival skills aren’t great. I know, I know.” Taeyong interrupted Baekhyun, knowing exactly what the other was going to say. “They still win, though. Every time.”

Doyoung raised an eyebrow. “Not every time, or you wouldn’t be standing here.” 

Taeyong scoffed, “The only reason I survived was because the Careers turned on one another. If they hadn’t, I would’ve died.” 

Taeyong’s heartbeat started speeding up, and he closed his eyes. He didn’t want to think about his own Games, not right now. He never _wanted_ to, but his mind wouldn’t leave him alone. 

“Let’s not talk about that.” Baekhyun interjected, clearly eager to shift the topic of conversation, and Taeyong swallowed. He wanted to object, for denying the issue at hand wouldn’t solve anything, but he also knew that Baekhyun wouldn’t understand. He didn’t blame Baekhyun for it. 

Baekhyun may be worried and care for the tributes that he cared for every year, again and again, and Taeyong can’t imagine how exhausting his job must be at times, but he would never feel the same way about the Games as those living in the districts. 

“Alright. Let’s just wait for Jeno and Yerim to come back.” Taeyong said, ending the conversation. He turned his head to look at Doyoung, his lips formed around the question of whether he still wanted to stay, but he froze when he noticed the look in Doyoung’s eyes. He looked worried, almost. Curious, as if he wanted to know what exactly Taeyong was thinking about. 

“I could use a drink.” Doyoung said instead, his eyes still on Taeyong, and Taeyong nodded. He allowed for Baekhyun to pull him toward the living room and television, one of the Avox’ leaving their post to get them their drinks. Taeyong couldn’t shake the look in Doyoung’s eyes, though. Not when Doyoung’s features turned into a smile when Jeno and Yerim walked back into the room, and certainly not when the stylists arrived and he was drowned in conversation. 

A seven and an eight. 

Taeyong had expected many things, but he felt guilty admitting almost all of them. His hope had been for them to pass, at least, but once again Jeno and Yerim had surprised him with their skills. 

Yerim had been disappointed with her score, had rushed to her room without much of a word after hers was announced, and Wendy and Minjeong had followed her while holding a box of tissues, as if that was going to cheer Yerim up. Jeno, on the other hand, had looked pleasantly surprised. 

Jungwoo, Chenle, Jaemin, Baekhyun, Jaehyun and Doyoung were still sitting in the living room, sharing drinks as they celebrated Jeno and Yerim’s good scores, but Taeyong had fled to his bedroom for the briefest of seconds to catch a breath. 

Yerim was still in her room and Taeyong had ordered for her to catch some sleep, and Jeno had done the same thing after Taeyong told him to. Taeyong was planning to go down to the training center with them tomorrow, the only day where it was allowed to do so, and he wanted them to be in top form for their training. 

Taeyong wiped at his face. He wished he was at home, sitting in his garden surrounded by the flowers that reminded him of the teenagers he cared for, of the lives that had been lost in order for him to survive. Taeyong wanted to visit Taeil, have some of the cake that Taeil always made that was absolutely delicious. 

He knew, though, that that was impossible. Jeno and Yerim needed him, and Taeyong needed to focus. And he needed to sleep, but he felt far too bad sending the stylists away. He wasn’t sure how he was going to send Doyoung away, either, and Taeyong sighed to himself. 

He stood up from his bed, feeling the mattress bounce back to its original state underneath him, and he stretched. Taeyong felt nervous already, the tribute interviews tomorrow before the Games started the next day, and Taeyong worried he wouldn’t be able to sleep as much as he wanted. As much as he needed. 

“Taeyong?” 

Doyoung’s voice carried through Taeyong’s bedroom door, and Taeyong sighed as he felt the butterflies erupt again. Doyoung’s voice was beautiful whenever he sang, of course, but when he talked it was calming and Taeyong had no doubt he would be able to calm down an entire riot if he really wanted to. 

“Are you alright?” 

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine. I’ll be out in a second.” Taeyong flitted across the room, eyeing himself in one of the floor to ceiling length mirrors and making sure his tie was still properly done. 

“Are you sure?” Taeyong was able to pick up on the slight dip of Doyoung’s voice, as if he was worried. It reminded Taeyong of how his father always crouched down to Taeyong’s level and talked in a quiet voice whenever he was worried, instead of yelling like Taeyong had seen other parents do in the schoolyard. 

“Yeah!”

“You’re allowed to be worried, you know?” 

Taeyong froze, his hand nearly touching the pad that would open the door. “What do you mean?”

He knew exactly what Doyoung meant, but he hadn’t expected it. Doyoung was Capitol born and grown, lived in the lap of luxury that it provided, and the last thing Taeyong had expected of him was the understanding of the fact that the Games were harrowing, to say the least. And not just for the tributes. 

“I mean that you being worried is valid. Can I come in? I don’t particularly like talking to your door.” 

Taeyong chuckled to himself, shaking his head. He was acting insane. There was no way anything between the two of them could grow further than a simple friendship, especially since Taeyong would be returning to his district after the Games and only return a few times a year. Not only that, it felt wrong. Extremely wrong. 

Despite that, Taeyong raised his hand to the electronic pad and allowed for the door to slide open, revealing Doyoung standing there with his hands in his pockets and a small smile on his face. “Come in.” 

“Thank you.” Doyoung said, moving past Doyoung. Taeyong felt their shoulders brush for the briefest of seconds, and he felt the butterflies go absolutely insane in his stomach. He tried to will them down, though. This wasn’t the right moment for it. 

“Like I said,” Doyoung started before Taeyong had even turned around properly, but he didn’t seem to be deterred by that at all. “Your feelings are extremely valid. I can’t imagine all of this being particularly easy.” 

Taeyong felt like he had two choices. He could either tell Doyoung the truth and feel like an absolute idiot for doing so, or he could lie to Doyoung and end the conversation right then and there. Although Taeyong guessed Doyoung wouldn’t believe him if he lied. 

He sighed, and shook his head. “Not really, no.”

Doyoung hummed before taking a seat on Taeyong’s bed, patting the spot next to him. “Do you want to talk about it?” 

It was an opening, a choice, and for that Taeyong was grateful. There was part of him that wanted to tell Doyoung everything — from the nightmares that haunted Taeyong depicting his own Games to the crushing weight on his chest that bore the responsibility of literal children. Taeyong shook his head, though, for he was sure that if he started talking he wouldn’t stop. “Not really.” 

Doyoung nodded, “Alright that’s okay. If you do want to talk about it, I’m always here to listen.”

“Why are you being so nice to me?” The question left Taeyong’s mouth before he could stop it. It was a thought he had been thinking about for a couple of days, ever since Doyoung asked him for a coffee date on the first day back in the Capitol. 

Doyoung scoffed, “What? Am I not allowed to be nice to you?” 

Taeyong rolled his eyes, “You are, but why so suddenly? We’ve seen each other numerous times before these Games began.” 

Doyoung nodded at that, and it made every ounce of regret for asking these questions leave his system. “I know. I always thought you were cute. I’m just a little late to the game, I suppose.” 

Taeyong closed his eyes, deciding to skip over the part where Doyoung called him cute. “The game?” 

Doyoung hummed, “I should have asked you for a coffee years ago. Didn’t feel appropriate at the time, though.” 

Taeyong flushed. He had been a mess right after his own Games, participating in the Victory Tour on auto-pilot. Doyoung had met him in that state, Taeyong buzzing on coffee and full to the brim with Capitol snacks and foods. He had probably looked like he hadn’t slept in months, which wouldn’t have been entirely wrong, but it wasn’t the greatest first impression Taeyong had ever left someone. “You’re kidding.” 

Doyoung shook his head. He stood up and took a few steps in Taeyong’s direction, and Taeyong swallowed. “I’m very much not kidding, Taeyong.” 

Taeyong watched him grab onto the corner of his jacket, the feeling of Doyoung’s fingers so close to his skin making his hair stand on end. “So,” Taeyong choked as he felt Doyoung’s thumb caress the skin of his hand, and Doyoung smiled. Not unkindly, but there was something about it that made Taeyong’s knees go slightly weak. “The times we went out for coffee?”

“Those were dates, in my opinion.”

Taeyong felt his flush grow darker, the heat of his cheeks growing warmer, and he closed his eyes. He had hoped they had been dates, the smallest part of him did at least, and hearing his hopes confirmed was exhilarating. 

“I don’t —”

“You have a lot on your mind right now, I know. Please think about things, okay? Meanwhile I’ll help you through these Games, alright?”

Taeyong blinked, the thought of Doyoung being by his side through these Games a relief, the words like music to his ears, and he nodded. “Thank you.” 

Doyoung smiled at him, “No need to thank me, Taeyong.” 

Taeyong felt like he had to say far more than that, but he didn’t. Instead, he allowed for Doyoung to push him out of the bedroom and back into the living room where Taeyong discovered that the stylists were already gone, Baekhyun the only person left seated on the couch. 

With just one glance at them, Baekhyun broke out into a smile. “Finally!” 

Taeyong flushed and shook his head, eyeing Doyoung who didn’t look fazed at all. “He knew?” 

“Well of course I did! I know everything!” Baekhyun exclaimed and, well, Taeyong couldn’t really contradict that statement. 

Taeyong felt weird walking into the training center. Not because he hadn’t been there before because he had, in fact, been there before, but because he could feel eyes on him the second he walked through the door. 

Yerim and Jeno were behind him and for a second Taeyong thought that a few of the mentors were looking at them instead of him, but then he remembered that Doyoung had openly talked to him in the Sponsors lounge and that the probability of no one seeing them had been zero. 

Taeyong closed his eyes and rolled his shoulders, trying to shake off the eyes of his onlookers. He didn’t want them to focus on him, he wanted them to focus on Yerim and Jeno. Taeyong had told them about the importance of allies and while Yerim had been hesitant, he still wanted them to have a chance. 

“Where do we start?” Jeno asked. Taeyong turned around to look at him and he cleared his throat. The noise around them was starting to pick up as weapons clashed against one another, and Taeyong felt the itch to get started crawl up his spine. 

“Show me your axe skills. And you,” Taeyong inclined his head to look at Yerim, “can show me how well you throw your knife. I want to see your combat skills first and we will look at survival skills later.” 

Taeyong turned back around and he sighed. He could see the other tributes that were already there and while Taeyong knew that some of them were skilled — he had heard so from Doyoung and Baekhyun— it was terrifying to see how well the boy from district four could wield a sword and how the girl from eleven didn’t even hesitate before firing an arrow straight at the heart of one of the dummies. 

It reminded Taeyong of his first day during training himself. He had been nervous, terrified and he had spent his first day literally shaking in his boots. Siyeon had been better, even making small talk with some of the other tributes, but Taeyong had kept pretty much to himself the entire time. It was one of the mistakes he had made, for he could have used allies in the Arena, and he didn’t want Jeno or Yerim in the same situation. 

“Sounds good to me.” Yerim said from behind him, and Taeyong followed as she made her way to the throwing range. Taeyong turned his head to make sure that Jeno was following suit. His eyes zeroed in on someone else behind Jeno, though, and he watched Johnny flash him a smile while holding a trident. Taeyong swallowed before flashing a similar smile, turning his head back to look at Yerim and Jeno instead.

The stark difference between the Yerim that Taeyong had seen during the Reaping and the one he saw now, holding a knife that could probably cut someone’s neck in half in less than thirty seconds, was startling. Taeyong felt the pressure in his chest grow heavier, the hatred for the Capitol for turning an innocent sixteen year old girl into a murder machine making his throat close up. 

“Alright, let’s get started.” 

Taeyong was soon pulled into the craziness of watching Jeno and Yerim throw knives, handle axes and even spears. The difference between the sweet Jeno that Taeyong was used to and the one he got to see now was horrifying at best, but Taeyong knew that it would serve in Jeno’s favour at the end. 

Yerim was the exact same. It was as if the two of them were able to turn their own feelings off, their focused faces not allowing for anything to distract them as they trained. If Taeyong didn’t know any better he would have guessed that they were from district two. 

When the both of them decided to focus on survival skills, Taeyong found himself wandering around a little bit. He watched as the other tributes fought, talked to their mentors and held breaks. He could see Kun, the victor and mentor for district eleven, talking to one of his tributes, and Taeyong waved when Kun nodded at him. 

“You look distracted.”

Taeyong turned around hastily, holding up one of the knives he was still holding. Johnny threw his hands up, a small smile on his face, and Taeyong sighed. “Fucking hell, Johnny. Don’t scare a man like that.” 

Johnny chuckled, shaking his head. “My bad, dude. Wasn’t aware you would start throwing knives.” 

Taeyong sighed, shrugging. He eyed the knife in his hand, turning it around in his hold, and he chuckled, too. “Force of habit, I suppose.”

Taeyong didn’t want to think of how he had killed the girl from district five with an exact replica of the knife he was currently holding during his own games. Instead, he forced himself to focus on Johnny. 

“I get you, don’t worry. Why so distracted, though?” 

Taeyong shrugged again, turning his head to look at where Yerim and Jeno were hunched over some rope on a table, before he turned back to Johnny. Johnny had been doing this longer, a few more years than Taeyong, and despite the fact that they were the same age, Johnny seemed more comfortable with his surroundings. “Just nervous. How are yours doing?” 

Taeyong watched Johnny turn his head to where his tributes were sparring together, and Johnny sighed as his hand reached up to itch at his chin. “Well, Yangyang is young. I don’t even want to think about his chances. Jimin is seventeen and fierce, can handle a trident just like me, so I have slight hope for her.” 

Taeyong hummed, eyeing the boy from Johnny’s district. “He isn’t the youngest this year, that’s even worse.”

Johnny nodded, “Heartbreaking. Can’t imagine Jongin is managing it well mentally.” 

Johnny was more friendly with most of the victors currently in the hall. Taeyong felt bad for never reaching out to them, but he had never managed to find the energy to talk to any of them. Unless they approached him, like Johnny and Kun had done. Taeyong bit his lip, “Me neither.” 

Taeyong searched the hall, his eyes travelling from tribute to tribute, until he finally found Jongin standing there with a short boy. “Thirteen, right?” 

Johnny hummed, and Taeyong could tell that he was biting his cheek. “Boy should be in school, not fighting for his life.” 

“Amen to that.” Taeyong said before he heard someone call out Johnny’s name, and Johnny whipped his head around. 

“Looks like I’m needed.” Johnny stated, shrugging. “We should catch up soon, Tae. You can tell me all about you and Doyoung Kim.”

Taeyong’s jaw dropped, his eyes going wide, but before he could say something Johnny winked at him and walked off, leaving Taeyong to stand there gaping like a fish. He didn’t know just how many people thought that Doyoung and him were dating, but the fact that it had already infiltrated the gossip channels that the Victors ran meant that it was spreading like wildfire. 

And they weren’t even dating. 

“Taeyong! Need some help here.” Taeyong was pulled out of his thoughts by the sound of Jeno’s voice. He turned around to look at where the noise had come from and was greeted with both Jeno and Yerim standing next to the computer for poisonous plants. “Coming!”

Taeyong closed his eyes, allowed himself one moment to catch his breath and get his thoughts away from Doyoung’s smile and back to the matter at hand, before he made his way over to his tributes. 

“You look wonderful.” 

Taeyong watched as Yerim turned around. The dress she was wearing flowed around her like it was a piece of air, like it was made for her, and Taeyong supposed that it was. Wendy and Minjeong had designed it for her, after all, and Jaehyun was just finishing up the last bits of make-up, following Yerim’s movements. 

Baekhyun smiled at her, his compliment still hanging in the air, but Yerim looked at Taeyong instead. “Do I look good enough to convince some of them?”

Taeyong nodded, “You’re gorgeous. Make a few jokes, keep that beautiful smile on your face and you will be just fine.” 

“Smile! She needs lipstick.” Jaehyun snapped his fingers together and Taeyong watched as Minjeong turned around to grab one from the huge case of make-up that seemed to follow Jaehyun everywhere while he was on duty. 

“Have you checked on Jeno yet?” Yerim asked after Jaehyun finished with her lips, and Taeyong nodded. 

He had gone to see Jeno just a few minutes before, the younger boy handsome as ever in a tailored suit that fitted him so perfectly you could see the bulge of his biceps through the fabric. Jungwoo, Chenle and Jaemin had done a tremendous job at making him look good, too, and Taeyong had told Jeno that if he just kept smiling, showed his eye-smile to the crowd and was as kind as Taeyong knew he could be, he would be just fine. 

Both of them would be just fine, Taeyong knew, and yet he couldn’t help the sense of worry that had nestled itself in his chest. The Games started tomorrow and Taeyong was mentally preparing himself for weeks of barely sleeping, talking to people he secretly hated but needed and weeks of keeping his emotions at bay. 

The training had gone surprisingly well, both Yerim and Jeno focused and willing to learn. The two of them had been hesitant about the survival skills, but both of them were able to create a proper trap by the end of the day. 

Taeyong turned his head to look out of the window from the bedroom Yerim had been sleeping in for the past few days, and he sighed to himself. He knew that, in the city circle, there was a countdown that ticked down until the exact second the tributes were allowed to get off their pedestals and fight for their lives, but he was trying not to think about that. 

“Do you have any tips?” Yerim asked, pulling Taeyong out of his thoughts. Taeyong turned back to look at her, and he shrugged. He hadn’t been the most present during his own interview, the nerves eating him up from the inside out, but he had managed it well enough, Taeyong supposed. 

“I told them about my father. How proud he was that I was in the Games. He wasn’t, but they didn’t need to know that.” Taeyong answered. When he returned home after winning the Games, Taeyong’s father had cried his heart out before scolding him for lying. Taeyong would do it all over again if he had to. 

“I could tell them about my little sister?” She asked, and Taeyong nodded. 

“You could, but first talk about yourself. If Jongdae gives you enough time, talk about your sister.” Taeyong had always thought the interviews were unfair, that they gave every tribute a different amount of screentime and the ability to speak to the public, but he knew that fighting it wasn’t going to help. Perhaps he could talk to Doyoung about it, for Taeyong was sure that Doyoung and Jongdae knew each other, but he shut that thought down almost immediately. 

“What is Jeno going to talk about?” Baekhyun then asked, putting what Taeyong assumed to be his phone away. It wasn’t much of a phone, not like the ones Taeyong had seen in his history books. It resembled more of a flatscreen but small enough to fit in your pocket. 

Taeyong swallowed. “He said he is going to talk about his work in the woods, about how he earns the money for his mother and father.” 

Yerim raised an eyebrow before nodding, making Jaehyun hiss from where he was working on Yerim’s eyebrows. “I bet he’s going to continue being one of the favorites.” 

Taeyong smiled at her, nodding. Jeno had been one of the favorites since the beginning. He was near the bottom of the favorites, though, so Taeyong hadn’t really heard much chatter about Jeno apart from how beautiful his face was and that he had looked amazing on the day of the Tributeparade. He was sure that once the Games started that would change and Jeno would go up a few spots, and it seemed as if Yerim knew that, too. 

“It would come in handy if he does.” Baekhyun said, and Taeyong hummed. He could tell that Baekhyun was slightly nervous, too, and it made Taeyong feel a bit more at ease. He liked Baekhyun, and had grown to appreciate his presence and his cheerful manner, but it was always nice to see that Baekhyun had other emotions, too. That he was human despite the make-up, the wigs he sometimes wore and the flashy outfits he was known for. 

“I think we’re done.” Wendy announced from where she was hunched down at the back of Yerim’s dress, and Yerim sighed with relief. Taeyong flashed her a smile which she returned, and he walked forward to take her hand and help her off of the pedestal she had been standing on. 

“Oh! You look so beautiful!” Baekhyun exclaimed before rushing forward, pushing Taeyong slightly to the side and engulfing Yerim into a hug. “You’re going to floor the public, I just know it.”

“The other tributes are going to be so jealous.” Wendy commented, flattening her own skirt. Yerim raised an eyebrow.

“They’re going to want to kill me.”

Taeyong snapped his jaw shut from where he had been about to say something to Wendy’s comment, interrupted by the way Jaehyun cleared his throat as he closed up his suitcase of make-up. “Well,” Minjeong stammered, “Yes, but you’ll also make them wish they looked just like you.” 

Taeyong knew that this wasn’t helping, but he had no idea what else to say. Baekhyun seemed to hover around Yerim, his arm still around her shoulder, and before silence could fall around the group, Taeyong snapped out of it and clapped his hands together. “I think it is best if we go. I’m sure Jeno is waiting for us.” 

Yerim nodded and waited for Baekhyun to let her go, and Taeyong took hold of her hand before guiding her out of the bedroom, leaving the rest to follow them. When Taeyong let them all to the living area of the tribute apartment, he was greeted with Jeno standing there, Jungwoo, Jaemin and Chenle hovering around him as they made last-minute touches.

That wasn’t what took hold of Taeyong’s attention, though. It was the fact that Jeno was standing there talking to Doyoung, and they both looked comfortable. Taeyong hadn’t expected to see Doyoung tonight at all, and the fact that Jeno seemed so comfortable around him was all the more surprising. 

Before Taeyong could really focus on that, though, Yerim pulled her hand out of his already loose hold and walked over to Doyoung and Jeno as well. Doyoung smiled at her and Taeyong watched as he took her hand before kissing the top of it. “Lovely to see you. You look wonderful. Both of you do.” 

Doyoung turned his head to look at Taeyong, and he flashed him a soft smile before his eyes focused on something behind Doyoung. “I already told Jungwoo, Chenle and Jaemin this but you all did a phenomenal job.” 

“Oh! Thank you!” Taeyong raised an eyebrow at the sudden raise of Jaehyun’s voice, his usual timber gone and replaced by the voice of a schoolgirl. Taeyong supposed he was a fan of Doyoung and he was about to turn around and ask Jaehyun about it when Doyoung moved away from Jeno and Yerim. 

“I’ll be in the VIP portion of the crowd, watching you all. I’m rooting for you two.” 

“Thank you.” Jeno and Yerim said in unison and Doyoung smiled at them again before Taeyong watched him walk toward him instead. 

Before Taeyong could greet him properly, Doyoung touched the side of his arm. “Can I talk to you in private?” 

Taeyong raised an eyebrow. He raised his wrist ever so slightly and when he found that they had a short few minutes left, he allowed for Doyoung to steer them back to the hallway and into the bedroom Taeyong had been sleeping in for the past few days. 

“What’s wrong?” Taeyong asked just as the door closed behind them, and Doyoung chuckled. 

“Nothing.” 

Taeyong raised an eyebrow. “Then why?” 

Doyoung seemed rather giddy and it was throwing Taeyong for a loop. It was the exact opposite from how he himself felt, and while it made Taeyong happy that Doyoung seemed happy, he couldn’t bring himself to return the same energy. The nerves in his chest were far too much for that. “I wanted to ask you something.” 

Taeyong’s heart sank. “Alright?” 

Doyoung scoffed, “You’re acting like I’m going to ask you something ridiculous.” 

“Doyoung—”

“Alright, alright. I wanted to ask you whether it was okay to talk Yerim and Jeno up a little bit. I will be in the VIP seats, after all. I could listen in on some conversations, perhaps strike a deal with a couple of sponsors if I get them drunk enough.” Doyoung said, one hand in his pocket as if this was something casual he was offering Taeyong.

Taeyong felt the guilt he had felt before closing up his throat, and he closed his eyes. “Doyoung you don’t have to do that.” 

“I know I don’t _have_ to, but I want to. I want to make this easier on you.” 

Taeyong opened his eyes again, and he felt his heart flip in his chest and for the first time in a couple hours, his stomach fluttered with something else other than nerves. “You wouldn’t mind?”

The fact that Doyoung was offering this was absolutely insane on many, many levels. Doyoung had influence already, was well-known among the exact crowd he was going to be surrounded by, and people listened to Doyoung. If Doyoung got Jeno and Yerim more sponsors, the possibility of one of them winning was going to grow immensely. 

Doyoung shook his head. “No, definitely not. I want to make this easier on you. Once again, I can’t imagine what you are going through right now but I like you, Taeyong. I want to take you on more dates and get to know you better, and with that comes the responsibility of getting you through these hell weeks.” 

Taeyong wanted to kiss Doyoung right then and there. He wanted to leap in the elder’s arms and never let go, but he managed to reel that in enough. Instead, he stepped forward and placed a kiss to Doyoung’s cheek in thanks. “Thank you.”

He skipped over the fact that Doyoung called the Games ‘hell weeks’ for that was a discussion Taeyong didn’t want to have at his moment in time. Instead, he felt as Doyoung embraced him for a quick hug before letting him go again with a small smile. “It’s my pleasure. Now, should we go? I have some sponsors to whoo and you have Yerim and Jeno to console.” 

Taeyong chuckled, “And a Baekhyun to comfort.” 

“Why does it not surprise me that he’s a crier?” 

Taeyong felt like he was going to jump out of his skin. 

It was a feeling he remembered from the years before, the same anxiety rushing through his veins as he watched the screen that normally displayed the tributes and their qualities. Now, it displayed the Cornucopia from a very far zoomed in angle, not allowing for anyone to see the arena until the tributes themselves did. 

Doyoung’s hand was heavy around Taeyong’s waist, but it was an anchor as he waited. He had no idea where Jeno and Yerim were at this point, probably already in their rooms being prepared by Wendy and Jungwoo. Taeyong had no idea what the arena was going to be like, but he hoped that his advice to search for water had stuck with the two of them. 

Neither Yerim nor Jeno had taken the ally requests Taeyong had been given from several mentors, including both Johnny and Kun, and it concerned Taeyong. He had no idea what their plan was going to be, for he wasn’t entirely sure that they had told him the truth, but not accepting ally requests was, in Taeyong’s opinion, quite stupid.

The requests and offers had started coming in right after Yerim had finished her interview. Jeno had already finished, already clutching a glass of water as he stood next to Taeyong with slightly shaking hands, and Taeyong hadn’t been entirely surprised. 

Jeno had been his usually charming self. He had cracked jokes, told about his work among the trees and complimented the Capitol. Yerim had been a little different, playing the crowd’s heartstrings by telling the heartbreaking story of having to say goodbye to her little sister. Taeyong had watched with a smile on his face, his anxiety making place for pride, and the crowd seemed pleased, too.

If the offers were anything to go by, the other tributes had become interested as well, but Jeno and Yerim had been very adamant that they wanted to do this alone. The only thing that could explain it was the fact that they were going to be each other’s allies, and Taeyong hoped that that wasn’t the case. 

No matter how close they had gotten during their week in the Capitol, having someone from your own district as an ally was always a terrible, terrible idea. Taeyong hoped that that wasn’t the plan they were aiming to pursue. 

“You need to stop shaking.” Doyoung’s voice managed to cut through the fog of Taeyong’s brain, and Taeyong turned his head to the side to look at Doyoung. Doyoung’s side-profile looked gorgeous, even in the horrendous fluorescent lights of the Sponsors lounge, and Taeyong took a deep breath. He hadn’t even noticed he was shaking. 

“Sorry.” He whispered, tightening his grip around his glass of freshly pressed orange juice he was holding. He had ordered water, but Doyoung had shown up with orange juice instead, and Taeyong didn’t have the heart to tell Doyoung that he hated the taste of oranges. So he held onto it, his knuckles already white from the pressure. 

Doyoung squeezed Taeyong’s hip before leaning in a little bit, as if he was going to share a dark secret no one around them was allowed to hear, before he opened his mouth. “Don’t apologize, Yongie. They’re not starting for another five minutes or so.” 

Taeyong could feel the eyes of many on them, Doyoung gathering quite the attention, but he tried to shake the feeling off. He knew that most people were looking at them because of their sudden closeness — Taeyong had heard the Capitol gossip channels on the television already — but also because Doyoung held a power in this room that not a lot of other Capitol residents held. 

It wasn’t easy to become a sponsor for the Games, Taeyong knew. He wasn’t aware of the entire process and all that it took, but he knew that said person needed to accomplish a lot of things before even being eligible for a place as a Sponsor. He knew income had to do with it, that they needed to earn a certain amount of money each month, but other than that he was pretty much left in the dark. 

But what Taeyong _had_ learned along his years spent among some of the Capitol’s most Elite citizens, was that even in the Elite ranks there was a hierarchy. And with the way everyone kept casting glances at Doyoung, Taeyong had learned that Doyoung was among the higher ranks quite quickly. 

“I know. I’m just—” Taeyong closed his mouth, swallowing. He wasn’t sure whether he should say the word _scared_ while surrounded by mentors that could use that information to their advantage. If Taeyong was scared, the assumption that he had no faith in his tributes was a quick one to make. And Taeyong had faith in Jeno and Yerim, he really did, but there were twenty-two other tributes in the Games and Taeyong had no idea whether they were strong or smart enough to beat all of them. 

Doyoung hadn’t said a word about how his mingling with the other sponsors had gone the night before and while Taeyong wanted to do nothing more than ask, he kept quiet about it. 

Doyoung hummed next to him before he raised his own glass of water to his lips, taking a sip. “I know, I know.”

Taeyong took great comfort in the fact that Doyoung didn’t sound condescending. He sounded worried instead, as if he wasn’t sure whether Taeyong would make it through these weeks without losing it. Taeyong wanted to tell him that he would be fine, that he wouldn’t collapse until he was back at home in district seven, but he wasn’t sure whether that would be a lie or giving Doyoung false hope. 

Taeyong had a history of collapsing in his room, as well. 

He remembered what it was like to watch his first tribute die. He had been powerless, for he had expected Yixing to fight, to want to win. Instead he had watched him throw himself off of his pedestal right before the countdown hit zero, blowing himself into small bits and pieces. 

It had taken a while for Taeyong to return to himself after that, to the point where he felt like he had been unable to protect Juhyun as she fought, managing to get to the last seven tributes before she died at the hands of a boy from district nine hiding in the shadows. 

Taeyong closed his eyes, the flowers in his garden coming to mind, and he started counting them in his head. He had reached the number forty-six when Doyoung’s shoulder bumped into his, making him open his eyes. He could hear the noise in the lounge dying down and Taeyong tensed, his heart speeding up as he did so, and he hoped he wouldn’t accidentally break the glass in his hand.

“They’re about to rise from the tubes.” Doyoung whispered, and Taeyong nodded. He took his eyes away from the floor, finding the giant screen on the wall, and his eyes widened. He could see broken down buildings around the Cornucopia, trees and a large hill making up the background, and Taeyong felt his anxiety simmer down to a mere stomach ache, his chest no longer feeling it could collapse any second. 

He couldn’t see water, but there was a big part of the Arena Taeyong couldn’t see through the trees of the thick forest behind the broken down buildings, and he had hope that somewhere along the side of that hill rested a lake. 

A loud air horn sounded through the speakers of the room, and Taeyong focused back on the Cornucopia. The tributes were starting to rise from their tubes, disoriented looks on their faces as the camera’s pushed in on them, and Taeyong found himself looking for Yerim and Jeno. 

He clutched his glass tighter when he found Jeno standing in between the boy from district two and the girl from district one. If Jeno was smart and listened to Taeyong’s advice, he would run for the forest. Yerim stood between the boy from eleven and the girl from twelve, her stance as if she was ready to run, and Taeyong bit his lip.

He had feared this from the very first day. He had held out hope that Yerim would listen to him, would take his advice and use it, but as Taeyong watched her look around with determination on her face and her legs ready to run, he knew that she had thrown all of his advice into the wind and was going to write her own plan.

Which most definitely included running into the bloodbath. 

“She’s going to run.” He whispered, hoping that Doyoung would hear him. 

He could see Doyoung’s head move in his peripheral vision before he felt Doyoung’s hand grip him tighter. “She is. Jeno looks like he has his eyes on something, too.” 

Taeyong waited patiently for Jeno to come back into view, and when he did, he saw that Doyoung was right. Jeno’s eyes were focused on a target, one that Taeyong couldn’t see, and he wanted to curse under his breath. Instead, he felt his unoccupied hand reach for Doyoung’s on his waist, his fingers now clutching Doyoung’s. 

Taeyong watched as other tributes came into view, his heart stopping when Jisung came along. Taeyong tore his eyes off of the screen, his eyes searching for Jongin instead, and he found him sitting on one of the chairs, hands clenched around his drink. Lucas was sitting next to him, a Capitol stylist, and Taeyong felt his heart break for Jongin. 

It was one of Taeyong’s worst fears, having to mentor a younger tribute. He couldn’t imagine how Jongin felt with a thirteen year old standing there as his responsibility. Johnny was also standing with Jongin, sipping on what Taeyong assumed to be a cup of coffee, and he moved his gaze back to the screen just in time to see Yangyang appear. 

The poor boy looked terrified, stricken with fear, and for a brief moment Taeyong feared that the younger boy wouldn’t be able to move once the countdown struck zero. Then, to his relief, he saw one of his fingers twitch, his shoulders roll, and Taeyong felt himself untense slightly.

“ _Happy HungerGames, and may the odds be ever in your favour_.” 

The voice of one of the Gamemakers echoed around the room, and Taeyong bit his lip.

The room around him went dead quiet. Taeyong could hear his own heartbeat, could feel his fingers tense around Doyoung’s without even thinking about it, and he watched as the countdown reached ten. 

“Nine.” 

Taeyong felt his breakfast rise up to his throat, but he swallowed it down again. 

“Eight.” 

Doyoung put his glass down on the closest surface and Taeyong felt another hand grab his. He squeezed. 

“Seven.” 

Jeno came on the screen again, his eyes moving around what Taeyong assumed to be the ground around the Cornucopia. 

“Six.” 

Jisung came on the screen again, his skin as pale as it could turn, and Taeyong felt his heart sink further into his chest. 

“Five.” 

Taeyong closed his eyes, trying to find his breath. 

“Four.” 

Nobody said a word, and Taeyong hated it. 

“Three.” 

Yerim came on the screen, her eyes dead set on what Taeyong guessed to be the Cornucopia, and Taeyong could already hear the words he would be forced to say to Yerim’s parents echoing in his head.

“Two.” 

He needed to purchase more flower seeds when he came home. 

“One.”

A loud buzzing sound erupted from the speakers, and Taeyong couldn’t tear his eyes from the screen. He watched as the tributes ran to the Cornucopia, watched as the camera panned to Jisung and Yangyang running away together as they held onto a small backpack like their life depended on it. Taeyong watched as the first tribute fell, an arrow right in the middle of her forehead, and the first cannon went off. 

Taeyong’s eyes widened as he watched Jeno dodge a trident before he grabbed the closest axe, taking off toward the abandoned buildings. Taeyong felt like he could breathe again as he watched Jeno rush to semi-safety, but then the camera moved back to the bloodbath and Taeyong gasped as he saw Yerim standing in the middle of a fight, an axe in hand and blood streaming out of a wound in her arm. 

Before Taeyong could squeeze Doyoung’s hand, pray to whatever god above that Yerim would make it out of the Cornucopia alive, he watched a spear soar through the sky and hit her square in the chest. 

He couldn’t move. Taeyong thought of the video he had seen of a squirrel being shot in the body with an arrow. The arrow had been far too big for the squirrel’s body, perhaps three times the size, and the poor animal was dead within seconds.

The sight of Yerim’s eyes widening as she realized what had hit her had imprinted itself onto Taeyong’s eyelids, something he would be forced to see every time he closed his eyes. He couldn’t think, couldn’t move as he continued to watch the screen, the feeling of Doyoung’s hand on his waist the only thing he was certain of. 

Nobody gasped, nobody said a thing or shed a tear as the camera continued showing the other tributes, most of them finding the weapons they had fought for and running for the hills. Taeyong was surrounded by quiet and the noises of the Arena, and he knew that it was a stark difference from what the townsquare of district seven would be like. 

Taeyong knew that there would be crying, yelling and perhaps even screaming at Peacemakers. He couldn’t imagine the feeling of losing a child, and he had absolutely no idea how Yerim’s family felt. All he knew was that he had to take the memory of her home with him, tucked in one of the small corners of his heart and wrapped in the low-quality silk of the dress she had worn at the Reaping. 

He knew where the dress was. It was safely tucked into one of the drawers of the dresser in her room, and Taeyong wished he could preserve the smell of it for Yerim’s family. It had been washed just as Yerim had been cleaned before the parade, and all Taeyong could hope was that the memory of her in that dress would be enough. 

“Yongie — Jeno.” 

Taeyong moved his gaze from where it had fallen to the floor up to the screen, and he watched as Jeno was still running. He had reached the trees, his movements now followed by the shadows casted upon him through the branches, and Taeyong felt himself crack a small smile despite the fact that Yerim’s cannon was still echoing through his ears.

“He needs —” Taeyong closed his mouth as his voice cracked, unshed tears making it harder to talk, but Doyoung didn’t seem to mind. 

“Water, I know.” 

Taeyong turned his head away from the screen, wishing he was at home in his garden instead. He would love to smell the scent of his flowers, watered by the rain and Taeyong’s bright yellow watering can Taeil had gotten for him. He wished to be anywhere but here, but he knew that this place was going to be his reality for the upcoming weeks. Up until the very last second, the very last shed of blood, and Taeyong hated it. 

“She deserved so much better.” Doyoung then whispered, his mouth suddenly closer to Taeyong’s ear than it had been before, and Taeyong felt a sudden rush of adoration for Doyoung that he didn’t even know he had. 

Yerim did deserve so much better than this. Than what she had been given, what she had been thrown into. She deserved a future, a life, not to be carried out of the arena by a hovercraft that was piloted by someone who couldn’t care less. 

Taeyong didn’t ask Doyoung the questions he wanted to ask. Why was the man even here, if he didn’t like the Games? Why had he become a sponsor? Why did he support such a vile Game if he thought the tributes deserved better. He kept his mouth shut, which was easier than he thought it would be.

“Do you need anything?” Doyoung then asked, and Taeyong nodded before he could stop himself. He handed Doyoung his glass of orange juice without a thought and before he could even say what he wanted, Doyoung took it and walked off. 

Taeyong followed Doyoung across the lounge with his eyes. Doyoung looked meticulous as always, his suit neatly pressed and his hair sitting just right, even from behind. Before Taeyong could wonder just how Doyoung did it, looking that perfect while feeling anything but, he felt a hand on his shoulder. 

Taeyong whipped his head around, his heart up in his throat, and he sighed when he saw that it was just Johnny. “You need to st—”

“I’m sorry, about Yerim.” Johnny interrupted him, and Taeyong felt his heart sink back down in his chest. He nodded.

“I saw that Yangyang teamed up with Jisung?” 

Johnny nodded, scratching at his chin. Taeyong hoped he would get the hint. “Yeah, Jongin came to me last night.”

Taeyong hummed. He wished he had a drink to hold onto again, for his hands were starting to struggle with staying still. He wished he could squeeze Doyoung’s hand again, had something to hold onto. “I’m sure they’ll make a great team.” 

Johnny smiled, albeit it smaller than the ones Taeyong had gotten used to, and he hated it. He knew he wasn’t the only mentor struggling with the fact that their tributes died in the Games. Taeyong knew that he needed to develop thicker skin, to stop caring about them all so much, but he couldn’t help it. “I’m just glad they took our advice and got the hell out of there.”

Taeyong bit his lip, casting a glance at the screen. The girl from five and the boy from three were walking, no longer running, and it was the first sign of the bloodbath being over. Taeyong hadn’t paid attention, hadn’t listened for cannons after Yerim’s death and for a second he felt his heart speed up, turning to look at the screen fully. 

He hoped that Jeno was still there, that he hadn’t just lost them both, and when he saw Jeno leaning against a tree trying to catch his breath, he let out a sigh of relief. 

“It’s a smart move.” Taeyong said, turning back to Johnny with the knowledge that Jeno felt safe enough to catch his breath in the back of his head. It was a smart move, a move Yerim should have made too, but Taeyong tried to shake that thought away. 

He had all the time in the world to dwell on Yerim after the Games ended. After the cameras were off of him for a few months and he had time to grieve properly. For now, he needed to stay focused on Jeno, needed to make sure the younger had everything he needed in order to survive, and while the thought of having to basically forget about Yerim made his skin crawl, Taeyong tried to push her face to the back of his head. 

“So no allies for Jeno?” Johnny then asked, and Taeyong shook his head. 

“Said he wanted to do it alone.” 

“Well, with his muscles and the right sponsors, he can make it on his own.” Taeyong felt his heart jump out of his chest at the new voice, whipping his head around. It was Kun this time, holding two drinks in his hands, and Taeyong groaned. 

“You two are the worst. And yes, I agree.” Taeyong wasn’t entirely sure whether he agreed, whether Jeno would be able to survive on his own even with sponsors, but he couldn’t say it out loud. 

“Speaking of sponsors, where did Doyoung go?” Johnny asked, winking at Taeyong before taking a sip of his drink. Taeyong felt his cheeks heat up before he shook his head. 

“That’s why I’m here, actually! Doyoung told me to give you this.” Kun interrupted, holding out one hand with a glass full of blue liquid. Taeyong eyed it for a second before taking it, raising an eyebrow. 

“Where did he go?” Taeyong asked, swirling the drink around in the glass. He had no idea what it was, had never seen it before, and he wouldn’t take a sip of it until Doyoung was next to him again and had explained himself. This wasn’t anything close to water. 

Kun shrugged, “He said he had to take care of something. I think he just went to the bathroom, though.” 

Taeyong nodded. The noise around the lounge was starting to pick back up to the normal frequencies as the Games had now officially started and were going strong, the attention of the people around them moved on to something else. Taeyong hated how easy these people pretended these Games were, but he was also guilty of seeking distraction from it from time to time. Taeyong feared he would completely lose it if he didn’t. 

“How have you been, Kun?” Taeyong then asked, trying his hardest to keep the conversation going. He didn’t want to end up alone just yet, Doyoung nowhere to be found. Usually Baekhyun was the one keeping Taeyong company during the first few hours of the Games, but it seemed as if the district representative had relieved himself of that duty. Taeyong cast a glance around the lounge only to find Baekhyun sitting with a few other representatives, Chanyeol sitting next to him with a small smile on his face. 

Kun sighed before taking a sip. “Same old, same old. My paintings are coming along nicely at home. I’ll send you one if I think it fits your home.” 

Taeyong smiled, nodding. “That would be great.” 

Taeyong had a few of Kun’s paintings in his house. There was even one on display in the bakery of district seven, one that Taeyong had gifted them because he felt like it would look better there, and he had a few spots left along his walls where he could hang a painting or two. 

“What about me?” Johnny asked, and Kun rolled his eyes. 

“You got one recently. I’m working on a few commissions right now.” 

Taeyong felt himself being sucked into the casual conversation easily. It was nice to talk about mundane things with the people who understood each other, had gone through the same thing, and knew of the importance of a distraction during any moment in the Games. Taeyong kept glancing at the screen every minute or so, much like Kun and Johnny did, and Jeno had found a small puddle of water to Taeyong’s greatest joy.

Taeyong had gotten so distracted that he hadn’t noticed Doyoung returning until he felt a hand sneak around his waist once more. He jumped slightly but relaxed the second he looked down and recognized the ring on Doyoung’s thumb, and he smiled slightly. He could feel the eyes of many on them, but Taeyong tried desperately not to care. 

“Where did you run off to?”

Doyoung shrugged, “I took care of something.” 

Taeyong raised an eyebrow. He had a feeling he wouldn’t exactly like the _thing_ Doyoung had taken care of, but before he could ask Johnny gasped, making Taeyong look at the screen. 

He could see Jeno on the screen, looking around as if he was hearing something out of the ordinary, and Taeyong gasped himself when he noticed the small silver parachute coming Jeno’s way. He followed it along with Jeno, watched as it descended and dropped itself onto the ground in front of Jeno’s feet. 

Jeno was quick to open the container that had come with it and while Taeyong couldn’t read what the note read or know why someone sent Jeno a bottle that was clearly meant for storing water for a long time, he knew exactly where it had come from.

When Taeyong turned to look at Doyoung with guilt rising in his throat, all he could see was a small smile on Doyoung’s face. Before he could say anything about it he felt a squeeze around his waist, Doyoung’s eyes still focused on the screen, and Taeyong sighed to himself. 

Jeno managed to get through the first night fine, without any further scratches apart from the first one he had gotten at the Cornucopia. Taeyong had spent the second day of the Games mingling with some of the sponsors in the lounge, talking to a few other victors he knew and he was, quite frankly, exhausted. 

Taeyong took a sip of his water just as Doyoung did the same, and it was the first time since Taeyong had gotten up that morning that his head had begun to calm down. The night was falling in the Capitol just as it was in the Arena, and Taeyong knew that soon enough he would have to go back to the apartment and try and sleep, but he dreaded the thought. 

He didn’t want to lay in his comfortable bed, under a silken duvet that probably cost more than what a lumber from district seven made in an entire year, while Jeno was forced to sleep under some tarp that he had found in the backpack he had managed to grab, never completely asleep with a knife or an axe in his hand. 

On the first night, when the Anthem echoed through the Arena and the Lounge, Taeyong had watched Jeno’s face morph into what could only be assumed as pain when Yerim’s tribute picture was shown in the sky. Every time Taeyong thought about it he felt a chill go up his spine. 

Taeyong wasn’t allowed to send Jeno anything himself, unable to communicate with him while he fought for his life, and Taeyong hated it. He had always hated it, ever since his first Games as a mentor. It left him feeling helpless, hopeless and like he wasn’t doing enough. All of this despite the fact that Taeyong knew that he couldn’t do more than he was currently doing.

Taeyong didn’t want to go back to the apartment, didn’t want to be reminded of Yerim standing in the living room in her beautiful dress while she talked to Wendy, Jaehyun or Baekhyun. 

Baekhyun had come up to Taeyong an hour after the Games had started, his eyes red-rimmed and a handkerchief in hand. Chanyeol hadn’t been far behind, holding onto what Taeyong knew to be Baekhyun’s jacket, and Taeyong had tried to console Baekhyun as much as he could while his own heart hurt even more. 

The room around him was starting to quiet down significantly as most of the people in the lounge headed for their own homes, their own comfortable beds, and something sinister inside Taeyong wished that all of them would never come back. He watched as the people left, extravagant make-up covering their faces and smiles from ear to ear, as if it had been entertaining to watch the boy from district one tear the girl from district nine apart.

But, Taeyong kept his mouth shut. He kept his gaze trained on Doyoung, his ears focused on the words he was saying, and it helped him calm down a little bit. There was still the feeling in Taeyong’s stomach, the one that wouldn’t stop nibbling at his nerves, that Doyoung enjoyed watching the Games despite how disgusted he seemed to be by it. Taeyong didn’t want to think about it, but he couldn’t exactly help it. Doyoung had grown up with it, raised to see it as entertainment and nothing more. 

The idea of it being a punishment for the resistance all those years ago had sunken far down into the minds of most of the Capitol residents. There were a few older sponsors, ones that had been ten years old or so when the Games first started, that watched the Games without a smile. 

It had been quite the surprise for Taeyong to learn that the Hunger Games hadn’t always been such an event for the Capitol and its residents. According to Baekhyun, making people watch was quite hard at first, for most had been scarred from the War as well. 

Taeyong found it hard to believe that people in the Capitol had been scarred from the War, but he had no idea what it had been like in the War at all. His father hadn’t even experienced it, born into a poorer than poor family in district seven fifteen years after the War. 

Taeyong turned his head slightly, the screen displaying the sun going down in the Arena, and he sighed. Before he could open his mouth and propose to leave, he heard footsteps coming his way. Doyoung’s eyebrow moved upward toward his hairline, his eyes going a bit wide, and Taeyong felt himself going slightly rigid. A person that could make Doyoung raise an eyebrow in an impressed manner was someone he didn’t want to screw up with. 

“Taeyong? Taeyong Lee?” 

Taeyong closed his eyes for a second. He took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders and molding his face into something more pleasant before turning around swiftly. When he stopped, he came eye to eye with Dejun Xiao, the youngest Gamemakers the Hunger Games had ever seen. 

And, if Taeyong was being honest, far too beautiful for someone from the Capitol. Taeyong had always thought that fashion sense was something the Capitol lacked — not that he had any, but that's besides the point — but Dejun looked astoundingly beautiful in his comfortable slacks and loose blouse, falling open around his collarbones and a slight hint of golden eye make-up that had Taeyong checking twice. 

Taeyong schooled his expression back to normal quickly, hoping that Dejun hadn’t seen his moment of weakness. Dejun didn’t seem to, for his smile grew larger and he extended a hand. “Good evening, Taeyong. I’m Dejun, it’s lovely to meet you.” 

Taeyong had no idea what Dejun wanted from him and despite the fact that Deun was beautiful and could probably charm anyone into doing his bidding, he felt a little skittish as he took Dejun’s hand in his and shook it with a smile on his face. “I’m Taeyong, it’s nice to meet you as well.” 

Dejun nodded at him before retracting his hand, and Taeyong stepped aside. “And this is Doyoung, but I’m rather sure you already know him.”

Dejun chuckled. “Well of course,” He moved his eyes from Taeyong to Doyoung, and Taeyong felt himself relax slightly. “It’s lovely to see you in person, Doyoung. I’ve heard you sing, of course. Beautiful voice.” 

Dejun sounded far too old for his actual age. Taeyong knew that he had barely reached nineteen, fresh out of the Capitol Academy, but Taeyong also knew that Dejun hadn’t gotten his job from nowhere. The Xiao’s had quite a bit of influence in the Capitol, part of a few of the most Elite families that it currently houses, and Taeyong figured that with the right nudge, someone so young could get such an important job. One wrong word in front of him, and he could have signed Jeno’s death certificate. 

Taeyong eyed Doyoung, who simply flashed Dejun a smile. “That’s very kind of you, thank you.” 

Dejun hummed, taking a step back once more, and Taeyong felt himself tense again. “Is there anything you came over for?” 

Taeyong tried to keep the slight waver out of his voice, but judging by the slight smirk Dejun shot him, he had failed. Dejun shrugged, relaxed, and Taeyong wished he could run. “I just wanted to come over and meet you, face to face. I’ve heard quite a bit about you, watched your Games, of course.” 

Taeyong felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up straight. Dejun was a couple years younger than him, had barely been a teenager when Taeyong was forced to fight to the death with twenty-three other teenagers, and the thought of ten-year old Dejun watching him made his skin crawl in one of the worst ways possible. 

Taeyong managed to put on a smile though, hoping he looked casual. “Only good things, I hope.” 

Dejun chuckled dryly. “Well of course. It seems that your male, Jeno, has also captured the hearts of quite a few citizens.” 

Taeyong tried his hardest not to snap at Dejun, to tell him to shove his compliments up his ass and walk away, but he couldn’t. Dejun had so much power, too much power, and he didn’t want Jeno to face more challenges than he already was in the Arena. Instead, he nodded. “Jeno has a face the Capitol seems to enjoy. I can’t really blame them.” 

“He’s a lovely boy.” Doyoung butted in, taking one step toward Taeyong. Taeyong felt warmth spread through him as Doyoung snaked his unoccupied arm around his waist, gathering all of Dejun’s attention with one single move. 

“I’m sure. That,” Dejun pointed at the hand now on Taeyong’s waist, “was something I hadn’t heard, yet. Well, I saw it in a few magazines, of course, but I wasn’t aware that it was true. I’m sure that’s in Jeno’s favor, isn’t it Taeyong?” 

Dejun merely winked at Taeyong, making Taeyong’s blood run cold, but before either Doyoung or him could say anything, Dejun raised his wrist to look at his watch and sent them a wave. “Lovely to meet the both of you. I have to get back to work! Enjoy the show!” 

Taeyong could see a glint in Dejun’s eyes he couldn’t quite place before he watched the younger turn around and make his way toward the exit. He stood there, feeling the pressure of Doyoung’s arm around him, and he wanted to collapse. He wanted to sleep for days, wanted to go back home and sit in his garden and forget about all of this. He couldn’t, though, and Taeyong knew this. 

“ _Well_ ,” Doyoung spoke, clearing his throat. “He’s certainly— special.” 

Taeyong scoffed. He couldn’t help but feel like he had done something to set Dejun off, to give him inspiration for something Taeyong had no idea about, but it was a feeling Taeyong would have to shake off. He had to keep Jeno alive, had to focus on him and see if he needed any items that sponsors could give him, and that meant not being able to focus on pettiness from Gamemakers. 

“We should probably leave, too.” Taeyong said, the room around them nearly empty now. The Avox’ at the bar were already cleaning up, the last few of the people present finishing their drinks before bidding each other goodbye.

“Yeah, probably. Do you want me to stay over again?” Doyoung asked, putting his glass down on the closest table before taking the one out of Taeyong’s hand and putting that away, too. Taeyong felt himself flush slightly before nodding. 

“Yes, that would be nice.” 

Doyoung had slept in Baekhyun’s old room in the apartment the night before. Baekhyun went home with Chanyeol every night now that his services were no longer needed in the Tributecenter, but Taeyong was forced to go back to that apartment without a place to go. He could ask Doyoung to take them both back to his apartment instead of the Tributecenter, but Taeyong doubted whether he would sleep better there. 

“Alright, let’s go.” 

Taeyong casted one last glance at the big screen, displaying a group of three tributes getting comfortable in one of the abandoned buildings, and he sighed. He would turn every television on in the apartment, anyway, but the possibility of something happening to Jeno while they made their way back to the Tributecenter was very real. It was barely a five minute walk, but in such an event as the Hunger Games, each second mattered. 

A grey parachute descended down onto a patch of longer grass on the forest floor, a few feet away from where Jeno had made himself comfortable in one of the trees. He was laying on a rather thick branch, capable of holding probably three times Jeno’s weight without even trying, and for a second Taeyong worried that Jeno wouldn’t wake up from the subtle bells that the parachutes always carried with them. 

Taeyong knew what was in the container. It was a small portion of bread and warm butter, something he had convinced Taemin Lee to give to Jeno. It hadn’t been hard for Taeyong to convince Taemin, for the older diplomat seemed rather eager to spend his money on one of the Capitol favorites, but it had been a challenge to get the Gamemakers to agree.

Sponsors weren’t prohibited from sending the tributes food, but it was rather unusual for it to happen. Taeyong knew that most sponsors preferred to send medicine, perhaps soup, a pack of matches or a lighter, but actual solid food was something rare. There were rules to Sponsorships, certain items that weren’t allowed to be sent into the Arena, and while a small portion of bread was nowhere near a weapon, one of the Peacekeepers standing close to the conversation had seemed rather hesitant to accept Taemin’s gift. 

Taeyong had the niggling feeling that the resistance his loaf of bread had gotten had something to do with his encounter with Dejun two days ago, but he refrained from speaking those words out loud to Doyoung when the singer asked if everything had gone okay.

“Why didn’t you let me do it?” Doyoung asked after a few moments of silence after Taeyong had gotten back to the loveseat Doyoung had managed to grab, and Taeyong let out a puff of air. 

“Because—” 

“Don’t you dare say that you’ll feel like you’re using me.” 

Taeyong froze. He closed his eyes, allowing for the rest of the lounge to fall away. Doyoung had been dropping a few hints here and there that he wanted to send Jeno something, something different from the bottle from the very first day, and Taeyong kept changing the subject whenever he did. Perhaps, Taeyong guessed, he hadn’t been the most subtle about it. 

“I don’t.” Taeyong countered, lying through his teeth. 

Doyoung chuckled. “You’re not fooling me, Tae.” 

Taeyong sighed, dropping his head down onto Doyoung’s shoulder. It still felt wrong, allowing for Doyoung to sponsor Jeno when Doyoung and him were somewhat aware of each other’s feelings toward the other. But, Taeyong also knew that he had no way of stopping Doyoung if he really wanted to send Jeno things. Doyoung didn’t have to tell him, for sponsors were allowed to send things without talking to the mentors first. It wasn’t something that happened often, for most of the sponsors only sponsored for the recognition in the first place, and a mentor could only give them that if they knew who had sent their tribute a gift in the Arena. 

“I’m sorry.” He whispered, wishing he could place a kiss against the skin of Doyoung’s neck. He shoved that thought away, though, for they hadn’t done anything romantic yet and Doyoung hadn’t made any other advances ever since the evening of the Tribute Interviews. Taeyong was left walking around in the dark, but for now he didn’t mind. It was a distraction from the Games, one that wasn’t pleasant and therefore didn’t make him feel nauseous with guilt, and so Taeyong kept his lips to himself and instead allowed for Doyoung to pet his hair. 

The screen displayed the sun rising in the Arena, a few hours later than it had done in the Capitol, and Taeyong watched as the boy from district twelve packed up his things in the slight daylight. He was hidden in one of the buildings, and Taeyong couldn’t deny that the boy was smart. He had balanced a brick on one of the doors that was still left, so that if someone opened it or pushed against it the brick would either fall on them or on the ground and alert him. 

Taeyong waited until the screen showed Jeno, who had made his way back to the center of the Arena over the course of the past two days. He no longer slept in the highest branches of the trees, going lower every night, and while Taeyong wished he would just stick to the higher branches, he knew that Jeno needed to defend himself the further he went toward the middle. 

The slight daylight illuminated the area around Jeno just enough for Taeyong to see that Jeno’s wound had started to scab over, something that would most likely leave an ugly scar. “I could send him medicine for that.” 

Taeyong groaned, throwing his head back. His ego and guilt wanted to say no, wanted for Doyoung to stop spending money on Jeno for it made Taeyong feel like he had an unfair handicap somehow, but he just shrugged and nodded. Jeno needed it. He had kept the wound clean with water that he had managed to filter, so a risk of infection was getting lower and lower by the day, but Taeyong reminded himself that the risk was still there no matter how much Jeno cleaned it, and that made him feel less bad. “Fine. Go ahead.” 

“Be right back.” Doyoung gleefully whispered in his ear, and Taeyong felt a soft laugh leave his lips before he could stop it. Doyoung moved away and Taeyong missed the steadiness Doyoung provided in an instant, but he hid his dismay by simply focusing back on the screen. 

Taeyong felt his heart sink as the screen displayed Jisung jumping out of the tree he had been sleeping in, a flower bracelet wrapped around his left wrist. The sight of him without Yangyang made Jisung’s heart stop in his chest for the briefest of seconds, and he turned his head to look at where Johnny had sat down by the bar. Jongin and Kun were sitting around him, clearly in a deep conversation, and by the look on Johnny’s face, Taeyong realized that something had happened during the night. 

Taeyong had only slept for two hours in total, his eyes trained on the television screen in his bedroom the other five he had spent in his room, and while he knew that every minute counted, he hadn’t thought that something bad had happened during the night. Clearly, he was wrong.

Taeyong stood up from his seat, the knowledge that Doyoung would find him again easily driving him to walk toward Johnny. This time, it was him who placed a hand on someone’s shoulder, but Johnny didn’t even jump. 

Instead, he turned his head around and Taeyong sighed before opening his arms, allowing for Johnny to fall into them. He wasn’t crying, something Taeyong knew none of the mentors wanted to do in public, but he could feel the misery almost radiating off of the older as he held onto him. 

When Johnny didn’t say anything, Taeyong turned to look at both Kun and Jongin. Jongin took a sip of what Taeyong hoped to be water, more for Johnny’s sake than Jongin’s, before he turned around in his chair to face Taeyong fully. “The Careers found them. They made a fire because Yangyang was shivering with the cold— apparently the Gamemakers thought it was funny to lower the Arena temperature — and, well.” 

“The girl from district two shot her arrow straight into Yangyang’s back. Jisung managed to get away.” Kun finished for him, looking down into his drink, and Taeyong listened as both Jongin and Kun sighed. Johnny pulled back from him slightly, Taeyong allowing his arms to drop back down by his sides, and he bit his lip. 

“I’m sorry, Johnny.”

Johnny shook his head, rubbing at one of his temples. Taeyong peeked over the victor’s shoulder and he gasped, looking at the clear liquid in Johnny’s glass. “Is that—”

“No, it’s water.” Jongin interrupted Taeyong, and Taeyong heaved a sigh of relief. 

Taeyong turned his head back to look at the screen, Jisung coming back into view as he did so, and he felt his heart ache for the boy. The guilt of having to run away from one of your allies’ bodies could be overwhelming, the guilt almost too much for a human to handle, and Taeyong felt his respect for Jisung grow as the boy kept on walking, one foot in front of the other. 

“How many are left?” Taeyong then asked, wanting to fill the silence that had fallen. Jongin hummed, rubbing at his eyes before he turned back to look at the screen. Jisung’s camera had made place for the Careers, and Taeyong could see Johnny tense. He placed a hand on the victor’s back, moving it up and down. 

“Eleven.” Jongin then answered, and Taeyong sighed. 

“I lost Yuqi, Jongin has lost Sunyoung, Johnny lost Yangyang and you lost Yerim. Each of us has one tribute left, so that means four. The careers are with four, as well, so that makes eight.” Kun answered before taking a sip of his drink, emptying the glass in one go. Taeyong hoped that he was drinking water as well. 

“The girl from district five is left, the boy from twelve—” 

“And the girl from six.” Johnny added, making Taeyong stop the movements of his hand. 

“Five days in and we have less than half left.” Taeyong commented, turning his head back toward the screen. His gaze fell upon Doyoung, though, who was standing with a group of other sponsors with a small smile on his face, and Taeyong felt the butterflies that had been smashed by the news of Yangyang’s death rise back from the dead, fluttering around in his stomach. 

“Oh, Taeyong — what did Dejun want with you the other day?” Kun then asked, making Taeyong look away from where his eyes were trained on Doyoung to look at Kun instead. An Avox was standing close to them, their eyes trained on Kun’s empty glass that he was still holding, and Taeyong wanted to tell them that it was okay. He couldn’t, though, and instead focused back on Kun.

“How did yo—”

“Lucas told me.” Jongin interrupted, and Taeyong wanted to groan. He hadn’t really been paying attention to who else had still been in the lounge when Dejun approached both him and Doyoung, but he supposed it made sense that someone else had seen their encounter. 

Taeyong sighed. “He asked me about Jeno. He also seemed happy to meet Doyoung, which isn’t that odd.” 

Johnny raised an eyebrow, swiveling his chair around so that he was eye to eye with Taeyong. “He asked about Jeno?” 

Taeyong nodded, “It was weird and I can’t shake the feeling that it meant something.” 

Kun hummed, finally putting his glass down on the counter. The Avox that had been looking at it rushed forward to take it, their white painted hands holding onto the glass like a lifeline, and Taeyong felt his heart shatter even more at the scared look in their eyes. “It can’t mean nothing. He’s a Gamemaker.” 

Taeyong nodded nervously, glad that he wasn’t the only one who thought it had been weird. “I have a bad feeling about it, but so far nothing has happened.” 

“Let’s hope it stays that way.” Jongin commented, and Taeyong nodded. 

Before he could say something, though, the sound of a parachute echoed around the lounge and Taeyong turned his head back at the screen. He watched as yet another parachute landed close to where Jeno was sitting on a log hidden behind a thick bush, chewing on the bread. 

But, before Taeyong could see Jeno’s reaction at getting yet another package, the camera changed to where Jisung was threading through thick leaves and branches in the forest, the sound of yet another parachute echoing through the lounge. Taeyong’s eyes widened as he watched the capsule fall right in front of Jisung, the poor boy jumping up from where his eyes had been focused on what was in front of him. 

“Wh—”

“Oh, I sent him a little something. Sorry for your loss, Johnny. I wish I could have helped him, too.” Doyoung interrupted Jongin’s question. Taeyong felt an arm snake around his waist again, but he didn’t move. He watched as Jisung opened the capsule with caution, perhaps afraid that something bad would jump out. 

Taeyong watched as Jisung pulled out the tub of what he assumed to be soup, the note within falling onto the floor, and a small bottle of something still poking out of the capsule.

“Thanks, but it’s alright.” Johnny answered belatedly, his eyes focused on the screen.

“What did you send?” Jongin asked, his voice slightly shaking, and Taeyong felt Doyoung squeeze his waist before clearing his throat. 

“I sent him some soup— he looks too hungry. And some vitamins.” 

“What’s in the bottle?” Kun then asked, making Taeyong curious, too. 

Doyoung hummed, “Medicine. I noticed he had a wound from when he ran away.” 

“How did you even know?” Jongin then asked, already standing up. Taeyong allowed for Doyoung to be pulled into a hug, missing the feeling of Doyoung’s arm around his waist for the split second it was gone. It was weird how dependent Taeyong had become on that feeling. 

He shrugged it off, though, pushing it away to be looked at later, and turned back to Doyoung. Doyoung smiled as he pulled back from Jongin, opening his mouth. “When I was preparing Jeno’s medication, they showed a recap of Yangyang being— well, and so I saw Jisung run and his skin tear from contact with a tree. Figured some medication could keep him alive.” 

Jongin scoffed, “Damn right it will! Thank you, man. Jesus.” 

Kun chuckled, “Do you reckon you could send Sungchan some as well? He hasn’t managed to eat much.” 

Taeyong gasped, “Kun!” 

Doyoung merely chuckled, shrugging. “Of course. A friend of Taeyong’s is a friend of mine. I’ll have to wait a bit, though, or the Peacekeepers overseeing it all might think I’m crazy.” 

Kun shook his head with a small smile on his face. Taeyong felt the guilt rise back to his throat, but he kept his mouth shut. He allowed for his friends — apparently they had upgraded to friends status — to laugh with Doyoung for a second. He didn’t want to take that away from any of them, for he knew that they were just as plagued by nightmares and trauma as he was. 

Happy moments were hard to come by during these Games, and Taeyong allowed for this to be one. 

It wasn’t until later in the afternoon, when Doyoung and him returned from having lunch, did Taeyong learn what the glint in Dejun’s eyes had been about. 

Taeyong had nestled himself on one of the chairs, Doyoung sitting next to him as he chatted with some people he seemed to know but Taeyong had no idea about, and he was somewhat comfortable. Jongin was standing a few feet away, talking to a few people Taeyong knew to be Sponsors, and he could spot Johnny and Kun still sitting at the bar together. 

There wasn’t anything in particular that alarmed Taeyong, per se. His eyes were already trained on the screen, the cameras following tributes as they moved around or simply showing off the Arena. Jongdae’s voice provided commentary like it had done the past few days, filling up the quiet moments when nothing happened in the Games, and Taeyong listened. 

He sat there, listening to Jongdae talk about the districts, how hard the Gamemakers had worked so hard to create some parts of this Arena, and that he couldn’t wait to get the mentors in the studio once the tribute count reached five. Taeyong always hated those interviews. He had only participated once, three years into being a mentor, and while they broadcasted his face in the small corner on the left bottom corner, two tributes cornered and killed Seungkwan, his last remaining tribute, and it left Taeyong’s interview basically useless. 

Taeyong didn’t know if he should feel confident in the fact that he might have to participate in one of those interviews again. He had watched Johnny do a few, Jongin too, but Kun had never had to do one. Perhaps, if Sungchan managed it, Kun would make it into the interviews. Then again, the thought of Jeno having to kill the tributes of either of his friends sent a shiver down Taeyong’s spine. 

The Hunger Games were never pretty, and Taeyong knew that among the three of them there wouldn’t be any bad blood, no matter the outcome of the Games. Taeyong hadn’t grown that close to Jongin yet, but he could only hope that it was the same for him, too. 

Taeyong tried to shake the feeling of Jeno having to swing his axe at Jisung, alerting Doyoung without meaning to. Doyoung shifted beside him, a hand placed on Taeyong’s knee, and he squeezed. “You alright?” 

Taeyong nodded, trying his best to relax his shoulders. It was then, before he could say anything or make another move, did the camera change to Jeno, zooming in. It wasn’t odd for a tribute to get a shot, most of them solo in the Arena this round, and yet Taeyong felt the hair at the back of his neck stand up straight. 

There was something moving in the background, something that Jeno hadn’t noticed yet, and Taeyong leaned forward as if that would make it more visible. It didn’t, to his annoyance, and waited. The room around him was as loud as ever, the Elite chatting among themselves with expensive drinks and dressed to the nines, but Taeyong focused only on the movement in the background of Jeno’s shot. 

Taeyong gasped when he saw what it was. A fireball was heading straight for Jeno, setting aflame anything in its path, and a yelp was ripped from his throat before he could stop it. He stood up with such force that the chair he had been sitting on screeched across the floor for a few millimeters, but Taeyong paid it no mind. 

“Turn!” Doyoung then yelped, too. Taeyong didn’t look away from Jeno, watched as the boy turned his head as if he had actually heard Doyoung. His eyes grew wide and he ducked, pulling a gasp out of Taeyong without the mentor even realizing it. 

The room around Taeyong quieted down almost instantly, eyes focused on the screen as Jeno ran. Taeyong watched him as he dodged branches, jumped over roots and took sharp corners. The ball kept following him, as if designed just for him, and Taeyong’s throat ran dry. 

He turned his head to look at the door that most definitely led to where the Gamemakers were doing their jobs, and the rage that grew within him was almost enough to march over there. Doyoung took hold of his wrist, though, rooting Taeyong to his spot. 

Taeyong looked back at the screen and watched with wide eyes and an open mouth as Jeno kept running, his backpack bouncing against his back with every movement. Jeno was clutching his axe so tightly Taeyong feared that if he fell, he would injure himself, but before it could get to that point Jeno broke through the line of trees and found himself standing in the field that surrounded the Cornucopia. 

Taeyong froze, felt Doyoung’s hand slip from his wrist. There was a beat of silence, one that went on for far too long, as the Careers that had made themselves comfortable around the Cornucopia and the closest broken down building stared Jeno down. 

A burning heat spread through Taeyong’s chest as the ball of fire was nowhere in sight, as if it had disappeared into thin air just like it had appeared out of nowhere. “They did— they did that on purpose.” 

“Who?” Doyoung asked, his eyes still on the screen. 

“Dejun.” 

There was no real reason for it. Jeno hadn’t been a threat to anyone within the Capitol, had just smiled at the cameras whenever he was supposed to, had joked and laughed with people who hadn’t cared that he was going to die soon and had spent his days in the Capitol dutifully preparing for the Games. He hadn’t hinted at any sort of deviance against anyone, not the districts nor the Capitol, and Taeyong felt his heart sink in his chest as he realized that Jeno had become the entertainment piece of these Games. 

To see _just_ how far the Gamemakers could go. No matter the consequences or the ethical problems that came with it. 

The Careers were now moving, their weapons in hand and eyes trained on Jeno, and Taeyong tensed. Jeno didn’t move, the only hint that he was still capable of doing so the twitch of his hand that was holding onto his axe, and the need to scream at him to run became almost overwhelming. The girl from district two was cackling, the microphones picking up the terrible, sadistic sound of it, and Taeyong wanted nothing more than for an unused mine to explode right under her feet. 

He pushed that thought away immediately. She had been trained to do this, had probably been manipulated to not feel sorrow, sadness or pain from a very young age, and Taeyong knew that she was only doing what was expected of her. She didn’t deserve to die. 

And then he remembered Yangyang, how the fourteen year old boy hadn’t deserved to die, either, how Jisung was somewhere in those woods with fear in his eyes and guilt wearing him down, and Taeyong closed his eyes. 

“He’s not moving.” Taeyong heard Doyoung’s voice, but it felt like it was from afar. Like Doyoung was standing dozens of feet away, perhaps across the room, and the only thing that reminded Taeyong that he was still next to him was the feeling of his hand grabbing his wrist again. 

“Maybe he has a plan?” Came Johnny’s voice. Taeyong hadn’t even noticed him coming over, nor did he care all that much, but he hoped he was right. He hoped that Jeno had a plan despite the fact that the ball of fire that chased him wasn’t planned, nor was his encounter with the Careers. 

Of course, for the Gamemakers, it had been planned. Most likely with several different scenarios, knowing them, and Taeyong felt the urge to march into their space still. He stayed put, though, and watched as the girl from district two readied her bow, the arrow placed onto it with ease. 

Taeyong swallowed. The tension was palpable in the air, and Taeyong knew that Jeno’s parents were watching with tears either in their eyes or already streaming down their faces. Taeyong imagined the Gamemakers, Dejun in particular, readying several cannons as they waited for the outcome of this fabricated encounter. 

“Move, Jeno. Move!” Taeyong hissed. Jeno stayed put, as if rooted to the ground, and for a second it seemed like the boy had given up, had accepted his fate and was simply waiting for an arrow to hit his chest. 

But that second passed, and just as the girl from two shot her arrow through the sky, Jeno flung a knife into the group of Careers, hitting the boy from one in the neck. 

A ripple of cheers spread through the crowd of Capitol citizens, but Taeyong couldn’t find it in himself to cheer. Instead, he watched as Jeno rushed away from the field and back into the forest. When a few seconds had gone by and Jeno was still running without any of the Careers chasing him or a new ball of fire licking at his feet, Taeyong fell down into his chair, dropping his face into his hands, and he allowed for a sigh of relief to pass through his lips. 

“They did that on purpose. They did that on fucking purpose!” The anger that rose in Taeyong’s chest and stomach came in full force, his hands now clenched into fists. His voice grew louder in the lounge that had gone back to normal, but Taeyong couldn’t find it in himself to care. “Haven’t th—” 

“Taeyong— Tae, hey!” Doyoung’s voice pulled Taeyong out of his thoughts, “Look at me! Let’s get some fresh air, okay?” 

Taeyong nodded and allowed for Doyoung to pull him off of his chair. He ignored the cameras pointed at him, clearly eager to get his reaction for the spectacle, but Taeyong paid them no mind. He could hear Jongdae recounting what had just happened through the speakers, his voice sounding as if it had been mere entertainment for him. Taeyong didn’t raise his head, though, not until Doyoung had pulled him outside and into an alleyway that was deserted. 

“Haven’t they punished him enough? He’s already in there! Why are they targeting him?” Taeyong yelled, the anger now bubbling over. Doyoung merely stood there with a solemn look on his face, his eyes sadly watching Taeyong, and it made something inside of him snap. 

“Why are you even here? Why do you support such disgusting events! Why do you give them your money, your vote? Why does everyone continue watching? Why is no one putting a stop to any of this? Wh—”

“Taeyong stop. You’ll work yourself into a frenzy.” Doyoung said, raising his hand to place it on Taeyong’s shoulder. Taeyong pulled back, though, taking a step toward the wall and away from Doyoung. 

“Why are you here? Why now? Why not last year, or the year before? You have never shown that you cared for any of the tributes in the arena, our tributes. Why are yo—”

“Taey—”

“No! Explain yourself! You were just like them! Laughing when the Gamemakers spiced the Games up a bit! Weeping when the tribute you placed a bet on was killed! What changed?!” Taeyong yelled. He didn’t care that his voice carried throughout the street, that there was a possibility others were hearing him, hearing what he was saying. He needed the answer, and he needed it now.

The sight of Jeno running away from something that could kill him only to be steered in the direction of a group of teens that wanted to kill him too had snapped something in him, and Taeyong found himself glaring at Doyoung. 

“Beca—”

“Why?”

“Let me finish, Taeyong!” Doyoung exclaimed, and Taeyong snapped his mouth shut. “I’ve always hated the Games, Taeyong. Even as a kid at the Academy, or when my grandfather told stories of how the Games used to be. Did you know that they kept the tributes in the Capitol zoo?” 

The Capitol Zoo. Taeyong had been there, once. Baekhyun had taken him on one of his days off when Taeyong was staying with him, and while some of the animals were terrifying at best and the cages were far too small, he couldn’t imagine twenty-four tributes crammed into one of those cages. 

Taeyong huffed, “You’ve always hated the Games? You didn’t seem to hate them when I first met you.” 

Doyoung sighed, shaking his head. “My grandfather was one of the first Gamemakers. My father grew up in his footsteps, loving the Games and growing up with the opinion that the Capitol had every right to round up twenty-four children and allow them to fight to the death. I hated it from the moment I first saw it happen. It’s inhumane, disgusting, and that’s why I’m a sponsor.” 

Taeyong raised an eyebrow. The anger that he had felt had subsided slightly, making place for worry and guilt, but he tried to shove those feelings down. “You’ve lost me.” 

Doyoung chuckled, “I’m a sponsor so that I can provide for the tributes in the Arena. I spent a good chunk of money on a few tributes last year, and the year before that. I try to help.” 

Taeyong wanted the ground to swallow him up. He couldn’t possibly begin to imagine how much money Doyoung had spent on the Hunger Games over the years. Money he didn’t have to spend, but had anyway. “Why never mine?” 

Doyoung closed his eyes. “I have. Anonymously.” 

Taeyong’s eyes widened in shock. There had been a few items that his tributes had received over the years that he had no explanation for. He had always assumed they were from an anonymous sponsor, one that simply wanted to _do_ something. He had never thought of Doyoung, one of the Capitol’s most famous singers — a person that definitely wanted credit for his charity. 

“I’m sorry.” Taeyong then said. And he was. He was sorry, for he had done the same thing to Doyoung that he had told each and every of his tributes not to do. He always told them that not every Capitol citizen was bad, that not everyone agreed with the Games. And yet, he had done that same exact thing to Doyoung. 

Doyoung shrugged. “It’s okay. I’m surprised it took you so long to start asking questions. I can’t imagine what it must be like to be in that Arena, fighting for your life, but I do try to make it all a bit better.”

Taeyong wished he could tell Doyoung that he did, but he worried that if he did, Doyoung would know it was a lie. For it was exactly that. The Games never got better, no matter how many sponsors you had or how strong you were. There were no winners in the Games, no matter how much money the Capitol threw at the one that survived it, and Taeyong feared that Doyoung knew that already. 

“Remember the salve?” 

Taeyong raised his head from where he had been looking at the grund, “The salve?”

Doyoung hummed, “The one you got in your Games?” 

Taeyong closed his eyes, nodding. It had been a week into the Games, only seven tributes left or so, and one of Taeyong’s wounds had begun to infect. At the time, Taeyong thought that was his death warrant. That he was going to die from it. But, after a few times of trying to clean it with semi-fresh water from a puddle, a parachute appeared with salve. It had been delivered without a note, and Taeyong had never really asked around for who had sent it after the Games. His mind had been occupied with a lot of other things. 

“That was you?” Taeyong asked, his voice a whisper. He moved forward, needing the comfort of Doyoung’s touch he had grown so used to over the course of the past week and a half, and Doyoung opened his arms. 

“It was.” He answered, embracing Taeyong with both of his arms. Taeyong sighed, digging his nose into Doyoung’s chest, and he swallowed. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay. You have every right to hate the Capitol.” 

Taeyong did hate the Capitol, but not everyone within it. He didn’t hate Baekhyun despite his connection with the Games. He didn’t hate Chanyeol, Jaemin, Chenle and the rest of the people he had met in the high skyscrapers of the city, but he hated the symbol it was. The way it towered over all the districts, where people starved to death on a daily basis. 

“I have nightmares.” Taeyong confessed. It slipped from between his lips before he could stop it, but he found he didn’t mind that much. The chance that Doyoung had heard him scream from where he slept in Baekhyun’s room was high, and Taeyong doubted Doyoung would be surprised. 

“I know. Next time you have one, please wake me up.” 

Taeyong doubted that he would do that very soon, but he nodded anyway. “I think we should get back inside.” 

Doyoung hummed, and Taeyong felt him place a soft kiss on the top of his head. He was glad that his face was hidden, the flush that appeared hidden in the fabric of Doyoung’s suit. “Alright.” 

When Doyoung and Taeyong returned to their chairs, Johnny and Kun had made themselves comfortable in the other ones that had been vacated. Taeyong nodded at them before sitting back down, his eyes focused on the screen almost immediately. 

“Did we miss anything?” Doyoung asked. Jisung was on the screen again, gathering what seemed to be berries in the sun, and Taeyong relaxed with the knowledge that he was still alive, too. 

Johnny’s voice pulled Taeyong away from the screen again. “The Careers split up.” 

Taeyong raised an eyebrow. It usually took a bit longer for them to do that. The Careers were known to form allies within the Arena despite the fact that they had to kill each other once it came down to it, and usually when there were only a handful tributes left they either turned on one another or split up. 

The first happened quite a lot. There was always a moment where one of them tried to kill the rest of the Careers in their sleep, or unexpectedly set off a trap. Just last year the boy tribute from two slit the throats of all his allies in the dark of night. Taeyong didn’t want to think about what this could mean for Jeno, now that all of them were now roaming the Arena alone, and instead focused back on Johnny. 

“You’re kidding.” 

Kun shook his head, “They fought for food and such but split up after. The boy from two is injured.” 

“Did they stay together?” Taeyong asked, thinking of the girl from two with her arrow aimed at Jeno. The arrow had narrowly missed Jeno, but Taeyong hadn’t seen anything else. Jeno could be injured, could have fallen and broken something as he ran for his life, and Taeyong needed to know if that were the case. 

“They did, surprisingly.” Johnny answered, leaning back in his own chair. 

“With her urge to kill I thought she would have killed him a long time ago.” Doyoung then said, his eyes still trained on the screen. 

“He’s all she has from home.” Kun then said, and Taeyong nodded.

“How are ours doing?” Taeyong then asked, no longer wanting to put it off. Jeno hadn’t died, Taeyong knew that, for otherwise he would have been flanked by camera-crew upon entering. The cameras weren’t interested in the first deaths, to Taeyong’s greatest disgust, but he appreciated that they didn’t come asking for a word or two after Yerim had gotten killed. 

“Jimin is still in her tree. I don’t think she’s getting out of there for a while.” Johnny’s female tribute had taken refuge in a big, tall tree two days into the Games. She hadn’t left it, but Johnny had been able to send her a few packages of water and food. Although, if this was going to be her strategy, Taeyong knew that she would have to get out eventually to gather her own food. Perhaps a weapon. 

“Sungchan ate for the first time in two days due to Doyoung’s gift, so I think he’s doing alright.” Kun mused, but Taeyong could see the worry in his eyes. Sungchan had been far too shy during his interviews and his individual scoring had been a five, which isn’t that bad but didn’t provide many sponsors, and he hadn’t shown his face much during the Games. 

It seemed to be that during this round, a lot of the tributes preferred the waiting game rather than going into the offensive. During some Games, ones that Taeyong hadn’t really experienced himself, the first fourteen tributes died within the first forty-eight hours. Some were longer, the longest version of the Hunger Games being the first Quarter Quell that lasted up to twenty-seven days, and perhaps this round would last longer than expected, too. 

Doyoung smiled, and Taeyoung couldn’t help but do the same, too. Doyoung was just trying to help the children in the Arena, and Taeyong was glad he was aware of that now. He hadn’t known what Doyoung’s intentions were for a long time and yet his heart seemed to like him, but now that Taeyong knew what Doyoung was up to with all of his gifts and the sponsorship of the Games, his heart liked him even more. 

There were still good people in the world. 

Taeyong turned his head back around to look at the screen, and he was greeted by a split screen of Jongdae in the studio on the left and the Arena on the right. Jongdae had been filling in the quiet moments in the Arena with telling the tales of other Games, much more violent ones, and they had even shown some recaps of the Games some of the mentors had won. 

Taeyong was still waiting for them to show his, and the thought of it filled him with nothing but dread. Jongdae’s shot widened, showing off another chair in the studio that hadn’t been in the view a few seconds prior, and Taeyong sighed. “It seems they have a guest.” 

Johnny groaned, “This can’t be good.” 

Taeyong was about to retort that nothing good had ever come from the Games, but his voice was taken from him when he watched Dejun take a seat in the empty chair next to Jongdae with a smile on his face. It wasn’t a pleasant smile, wasn’t one Taeyong liked to see. It was a sinister smile, one that Taeyong remembered several Peacekeepers to have back at home, and he swallowed. 

“Everyone! Allow me to introduce to you one of our brilliant assistant Head Gamemakers!” Taeyong could hear the muffled sound of people applauding, a few of the Capitol Elite in the lounge doing the same thing, and he wanted to run outside again. There could come nothing good of Dejun on the screen like that. 

“Did he get promoted?” Doyoung asked, his voice soft, and Taeyong froze. Dejun had been a mere Gamemaker before, when he had come to talk to them, and Jongdae had definitely called him an assistant Head Gamemaker. 

“You’re far too kind, Jongdae.” Dejun said, crossing his legs. Taeyong tried to keep his eyes on the side of the screen that displayed the Arena, but Dejun kept pulling him back. At first they only exchanged small talk, stories about these Games and what the Gamemakers had been up to, and for a second Taeyong believed that there was no other motive for Dejun being on the screen other than entertainment. 

That was, until Jongdae cleared his throat. “We also got to see some magnificent action, today. Tell me, Dejun, what was the fireball all about? And why Jeno Lee, the boy from district seven?” 

Taeyong held his breath as Dejun rearranged himself on his chair, placing his hands on his knees and leaning forward ever so slightly. On the right side of the screen they could see Jisung coming out from the lines of trees and rushing into an abandoned building, and the flash of movement redirected Taeyong’s eyes for a second. 

Dejun chuckled, “That was my idea, actually. I thought the Arena was far too quiet, and the tributes from one and two were bound to break up their alliance, anyway.” 

Jongdae smiled, “Clever, Dejun. Very clever indeed. But, that doesn’t answer the question about Jeno.” 

Taeyong wanted to hurl the glass an Avox put down for him to the screen, but Doyoung took hold of his hand before he could even move. Taeyong could never throw that far, or that high, but the urge to do something to Dejun was growing by the day. 

Dejun’s smile morphed into a smirk, and he sighed. “Well, he’s had it relatively easy, hasn’t he? I believe the boy from one was his first official kill.”

Taeyong let out a gasp. “Easy?” 

“He’s got to be kidding.” Kun muttered under his breath, low enough for Taeyong to hear. Taeyong clenched his hands into fists, wanting nothing more than to throw a handful of punches at the Gamemaker with his stupid smirk, but he stayed seated. 

Even Jongdae looked a little taken back by Dejun’s statement, but he recovered soon enough with a dry laugh. “Do you have anything like that in stock for the other tributes, perhaps?”

Dejun nodded. Taeyong tensed, turning his head to look at both Johnny and Kun. Their faces looked like the human version of a thunderstorm. Taeyong wished he could tell them that it was okay, that nothing bad would happen, but he couldn’t. “We do. Jeno’s version was relatively mild, too.” 

“Mild?!” Someone in the room exclaimed. It wasn’t a voice Taeyong recognized, but when he scanned the room he saw more faces morph from joy to confused, some even angry. There were a few faces Taeyong recognized, sponsors he had talked to over the past few days, and he felt pleased that some of their faces didn’t seem to agree with Dejun at all. 

“If that was mild — what are they going to do to the rest?” Johnny asked. Taeyong watched him whip his head around, and Taeyong followed his gaze until he found Jongin sitting at one of the bars with wide eyes. Jisung was the youngest and if Dejun was as sadistic as he seemed to be, the chances of Jisung being the next target were quite high. 

It was a harrowing, terrifying thought, but Taeyong couldn’t focus on it too long as the Arena shot widened out again to fill up the whole screen, Dejun and Jongdae appearing in the bottom left corner. 

For the first few seconds, Taeyong couldn’t figure out what they were looking at. He made eye contact with Kun, who seemed just as confused, but before Taeyong could ask anything, a loud yell erupted from the speakers hanging around the lounge. 

“It’s the girl from five!” Doyoung said. Taeyong turned his gaze back to the screen, the sound of her screams still echoing in his head. The girl was running as fast as she could, a gaping wound on her shoulder. She seemed to have seen a ghost, her eyes wide with terror as she continued running. 

She didn’t reach very far, though. She stumbled to the ground, her skin as white as snow. Her blood gushed from the wound in her shoulder and Taeyong watched as she struggled for a few more moments until she went completely still. He didn’t move, not until he heard the cannon go off that signaled her death. 

For a few seconds, nobody seemed to know what or who exactly had killed her. Her screams had seemed to come out of nowhere, her legs carrying her through the dust of the abandoned buildings, but everybody knew that that wasn’t possible. That wound had to come from somewhere. 

“Over there!” Kun whispered, pointing somewhere at the screen, and Taeyong narrowed his eyes. He could see a moving figure in one of the houses, standing in the hole that used to hold a window of some sort. Their chest was moving up and down, but the camera was too far to see who it actually was. It panned out for a little bit, the sound of a hovercraft coming in to carry the corpse on the ground away. Taeyong blinked and when he opened his eyes again, the camera had moved to a different angle, and showed the boy from district twelve with a wicked look on his face.

The moment didn’t last long, for his face morphed into one of surprise before he fell through the hole, landing on the ground below with a loud thud and the sound of bones cracking. Taeyong gasped. Sungchan stepped forward, his hands held out as if he had pushed the boy through the hole, and he whipped his head around to look at Kun. 

Kun wasn’t smiling. Instead, his face displayed horror and guilt, and Taeyong understood. There was nothing joyous about watching your tribute kill another tribute. In the end, if you pulled all of the decorations away, the circumstances, all of the teenagers in the Arena were just children. Children who were supposed to attend school, have fun with their friends and build a future. Not kids designed to kill, no matter how much some of the districts trained their children. 

Killing someone, whether it was because of the Games or not, took away a part of innocence from someone, especially a child. And the thought was heartbreaking enough not to feel joy, even if your tribute was closer to winning this way. It was the same reason why Taeyong now despised Dejun, for making Jeno kill the boy from district one so abruptly. It could rip a soul apart, and Taeyong didn’t want that for Jeno. 

“That was a smart move!” Jongdae exclaimed, kickstarting the noise around the lounge back into high gear. Taeyong kept his eyes on Kun for a second, awaiting a reaction that he wasn’t sure he was going to get, before he turned back to Doyoung. Doyoung wasn’t smiling either. Instead, the hand that wasn’t holding onto Taeyong’s had balled itself up into a fist. 

Within the span of three minutes, two children had lost their lives at the hand of the Capitol. And there were six more to go to get the winner the Capitol needed, the winner that they wanted. 

Taeyong felt like he was going to throw up.

Taeyong hadn’t thrown up. Instead, they had continued watching before it was time to go back to their apartments. Johnny was the first to step out of the elevator, leaving Jongin, Kun, Doyoung and Taeyong to stand there in silence. When they reached the seventh floor, Taeyong pulled both Jongin and Kun into a hug before he allowed Doyoung to pull him out of the elevator. He watched and waited until the elevator doors slid closed, Kun and Jongin disappearing from view as it ascended. 

Doyoung and him were quiet as they walked, the front door opening by itself and allowing for them to enter. Taeyong had no idea what he wanted to do, the sight of Jeno running for his life from a giant ball of fire still engraved onto his eyelids. There wasn’t going to be a second of sleep tonight, Taeyong knew. He would be left trying not to let the darkness overtake him, trying not to see the figures of the tributes that had died in order for him to win in the movements of the shadows. The Games wouldn’t bring him any comfort, but the Capitol didn’t broadcast anything else. 

All Taeyong had to distract himself was the same thing that brought him into this mess. And Doyoung, but Taeyong didn’t want to keep him awake. 

Before Taeyong could say anything or do anything, Doyoung turned the television on in the living area of the apartment. It was more of a hologram on the giant wall, not necessarily a television like the one Taeyong’s neighbor Yuta had had back home. Taeyong watched as the screen showed a tree in the Arena swaying in the wind, the sky growing dark around it. 

They waited. They waited until the Capitol Anthem echoed through the Arena and the apartment, showing the fallen districts of that day before everything went quiet again and the sky returned to its former pitch black. Taeyong hoped that Jeno had found a safe place to sleep, with a bit of warmth. 

Sleep in the Arena was hard to come by, especially if you were alone without an ally willing to switch watch with you. In his own Games, Taeyong had found a cave in which he could sleep. He would be alerted by someone coming in due to the loose rocks at the opening of the cave and, naturally, he had slept with a knife in hand and leaves all around him as camouflage. 

Taeyong couldn’t remember a night where he didn’t sleep lightly. As a child, nothing woke him up when he was far away, flying around the world in his dreams. Now, though, the drop of a feather woke him up on a really bad day. On a good day, the sound of wood creaking woke him up. 

“Can I have a hug?” 

The words left Taeyong before he could think about it. He didn’t dare look at Doyoung, his eyes instead focused on the screen. A few seconds passed, ones that made Taeyong jittery with nerves, but before he could take it back and rush to his bedroom, he felt Doyoung’s arms around his waist. 

Taeyong was quick to react, relaxing in Doyoung’s grip and wrapping his own arms around him. Taeyong felt like he could cry again, his head still slightly hurting from how he had cried that morning, but he swallowed his tears down. Crying wasn’t going to help anything, he knew, and so he stored them away. Once he was back in his own bedroom in seven, he could cry all he wanted. 

“Do you want me to sleep in your room? I can take the couch.” Doyoung asked, and Taeyong sighed. He didn’t want to use Doyoung, didn’t want to make Doyoung feel like that was all that this was. He had always thought Doyoung to be attractive, had always been curious about him and what he would be like, and he wanted to continue this even after the Games. It scared him that he wanted it, for everything Capitol was bad news in the districts and there was no way Taeyong would move to the Capitol, but he wanted it. 

He didn’t want Doyoung to think that he was merely here for comfort. Taeyong was interested, and Doyoung needed to know that. “I’d like that, but on one condition.” 

Doyoung pulled back ever so slightly, an eyebrow raised. His smile wasn’t bright, not as bright as the ones Taeyong saw him smile on stage, but it was there. And perhaps, Taeyong thought, it was because of him. The thought of it was thrilling, and for a second he forgot about the Games. All he wanted to see was Doyoung’s face, his brown eyes that reminded him of the wood in his district, of home, and his voice that could enchant so many people. 

“What condition is that?” He asked, and Taeyong closed his eyes. 

“I need you to know that this isn’t because of the Games, okay? I want to continue this after, too. When things calm down.” Perhaps a few months after the Games, Doyoung could visit him in the district. When Taeyong had calmed down, had put everything in the right place in his head and he had managed to feel like himself again with the weight of Jeno and Yerim’s deaths on his shoulders. 

Taeyong had his eyes closed still, but he felt the arms wrapped around him tighten their hold. “I know that already. You aren’t the type of person to use someone, Yongie.” 

There was a brief moment of nothingness, of silence and just the matter of them holding on to each other, and Taeyong felt like there was nothing else but them in the world. Even for just a second. 

But, with all things, it ended. Slowly but surely, they got ready for bed. While Doyoung watched the screen, Taeyong washed and dressed himself, and when it was Doyoung’s turn, Taeyong didn’t take his eyes off of the screen. Nothing significant happened, most tributes being displayed either getting ready to catch some sleep or already sleeping, but it was nice to keep watch. 

When Taeyong slid under the covers, Doyoung moved the projector higher up the wall. It made it easier for him to see, something he hadn’t thought about himself, and he smiled at Doyoung in thanks once he looked back at him. 

Taeyong watched Doyoung move to the small loveseat in the room, and he sat up. “What are you doing?” 

Doyoung stopped his movements. “Making myself comfortable.” 

Taeyong scoffed before throwing the right side of the blanket open. “Get over here.” 

“Are you sure?”

Taeyong nodded. He swallowed down the anxiety that threatened to overtake him, the reminder that if the nightmares appeared tonight Doyoung would not only know but also see what it meant, what Taeyong dealt with almost every night. Doyoung smiled at him though, pushing the anxiety down again. Once Doyoung was settled next to him in bed, Taeyong scooted close enough for Doyoung to grab him. He felt like a teenager in love, the ones he had read about in older books the library back at home had. But he no longer was a teenager, nor in love. It made him feel giddy, though, and as Doyoung pulled him the last few inches so that they were pressed together, Taeyong felt like he could perhaps catch a few hours of sleep. 

The only light in the room came from the screen, displaying Jongdae talking and offering commentary of the events of the day with the Arena in the corner of the screen. Taeyong tried not to listen and instead focused on Doyoung’s breathing. It managed to calm his heart and once he mirrored Doyoung’s breathing, his body too. 

“You catch some sleep, alright? I’ll keep watch.” 

Taeyong let out a dry chuckle that surprised him, but he listened. He closed his eyes and lay his head down on Doyoung’s chest, the warmth of his body nice despite the summer heat creeping closer and closer. _I’ll keep watch_. 

Taeyong knew that there was no danger to him at all. That nobody would emerge from the bushes and slash his throat or walk into his cave and bash his head in, but the knowledge that someone was there to keep watch was enough to even calm his head and his mind. Taeyong felt himself relax in Doyoung’s hold before he slipped away. 

Sweet talking the potential sponsors became easier as the number of tributes in the Arena dwindled down. The need to talk to these people and convince them that Jeno was worth it was no longer necessary, for Doyoung was able to buy anything Jeno would ever need, but it gave Taeyong something to do. 

And it took away some of the guilt Taeyong couldn’t help but feel. 

Taeyong had met most of these people before, during parties and dinners he was asked to attend by the president or simply invited, but most of them acted like they had never seen one another before. Taeyong was pulled into hugs, kissed on his cheek and touched as if he was someone new in the lounge, and it made his skin crawl.

Doyoung made it easier, though. The people seemed to care more about Doyoung, talking to him as if Taeyong wasn’t even there in the first place. If they weren’t talking to some of the Capitol’s most cruel people, Taeyong would have cared. Now, though, he found solace in the fact that Doyoung took away some of the spotlight. 

The mentors of the districts who had no tributes left were nowhere to be found, leaving only a few of them to talk to the sponsors and the elite, and that made it easier, too. The top five was crawling closer and closer, too, and while Taeyong tried not to think of it, he was already dreading his mentor interview. 

Taeyong allowed for Doyoung to pull him away from a conversation he hadn’t been enjoying, anyway. Most of the people in the room were still marvelling over Jeno’s actions the day before. Some called it art, the way the Gamemakers came up with the ideas of making the Games more eventful in their eyes, and it took everything from Taeyong’s self-control to not walk away or yell at them. 

It did remind him, however, of the statement Dejun had made. That Jeno’s incident had only been the first out of more, and it put him on edge. He tried his best to accept the distractions that were handed to him in the form of conversations, and for a few hours it worked. As the Arena woke up and the tributes were shown trying to gather food for their breakfast and the likes, Taeyong found himself surrounded by Kun, Johnny, Jongin and Doyoung once more. 

It was so different from what his usual Hunger Games looked like. Sure, he had spoken to both Kun and Johnny during the past Games, had talked to Jongin a little bit and spent some time doing other things than watching the Games. But it was a nice difference, a welcome change, for Taeyong found it a little bit more bearable. Surrounded by people who had experienced the same things as he had, perhaps even worse, helped a lot getting him through the days. 

And Doyoung? Doyoung was a nice comfort to have. An arm around his waist, a hand holding onto his while Taeyong watched Jeno with complete focus. There were no lonely days, no dark nights in the apartment once Baekhyun moved back home to his own penthouse, and while Taeyong knew that the feeling of the Games hadn’t changed, his ease in dealing with said feelings had gotten better. 

Anticipation grew in the lounge, though. There were only seven tributes left and if the Gamemakers wanted to rush things, they could. Taeyong noticed his fellow mentors growing antsy, could see it in the way Jongin kept looking at the screen despite the fact that Jisung hadn’t shown his face since the night before. Taeyong had no idea where the younger was hiding, but he hoped it was a safe place where even the Gamemakers wouldn’t be able to reach him. 

Of course, Taeyong knew that that was impossible. The Gamemakers had designed the arena, had put down each and every individual building and patch of forest. They knew the possible places Jisung could be hiding even if said place didn’t have a camera anywhere near it, and depending on where Jisung was it could be an advantage or a huge disadvantage. 

Sudden footsteps echoed around the lounge, the speakers growing louder and louder, and Taeyong whipped his head around to look at the screen. The conversation he had been having with Kun was cut off, but the other mentor didn’t show any annoyance. He looked at the screen, too, and Taeyong knew that everyone was aware something was going to happen.

Reaching for Doyoung’s hand, Taeyong found comfort in Doyoung’s grip. They could only see the trees, whatever was causing the loud footsteps hidden behind the greenery. It managed to set every single one of Taeyong’s hairs on edge and he felt his toes curling in his shoes. 

Without any warning, Jisung burst through the bushes with wide eyes. Tears glistened in the sunlight from the Arena, and Taeyong heard Jongin let out a loud gasp. More people in the lounge seemed to catch on and Taeyong could even hear a high-pitched wail from somewhere, but he paid it no mind. 

Instead, he watched Jisung run for what seemed to be his life. For the longest of moments, he couldn’t see what the boy was running from. The screen only showed him running across the field to the abandoned buildings, no other tribute in sight. Sungchan was still somewhere hidden in one of those buildings, Taeyong knew, and he swallowed as he realized what the potential idea of the Gamemakers was. 

“They’re making them find each other.” Taeyong whispered. 

“Who?” Doyoung asked, his eyes never leaving the screen. 

Taeyong closed his eyes, “Sungchan and Jisu—”

A loud yell interrupted Taeyong’s words, and he opened his eyes immediately. A creature that he had never seen before ran after Jisung, its four legs carrying it faster than any human could ever run, and Taeyong felt his heart sink. 

He turned his head slightly to look at Jongin, who’s eyes were trained on the screen as if his life depended on it, too, and Taeyong’s heart ached for him. They couldn’t do anything as they watched the creature run even faster, driving Jisung into the middle of the abandoned buildings. 

The camera switched, nearly giving Taeyong a heart attack, and it showed Sungchan with wide eyes, cornered by a similar creature. Jisung’s voice cut through the speakers, a loud yell leaving him, and Taeyong could hear Jongin whimper from behind him. Kun let out a gasp, too, Sungchan’s head whipping around at the sudden noise, and the creature seemed to be distracted for a split second.

Sungchan took his chance, pushing away from the wall and using the few seconds that the animal wasn’t looking at him to run. To Taeyong’s great horror, they were running toward one another. They hadn’t been allies, and Taeyong wasn’t sure whether they had been nice to one another in training. He couldn’t imagine Jisung being mean to anyone, but looks could be deceiving. 

“You’re right.” Doyoung whispered. Taeyong felt dread fill his stomach, his heartbeat speeding up in his chest. Jisung turned a corner, avoiding a dead end, and suddenly the two of them were a few hundred feet apart, running toward each other. 

“Oh fuck.” Kun whispered from behind Taeyong. Jongin had gone silent, his lip between his teeth, and Taeyong couldn’t blame him. The two boys were still running toward one another, probably far more terrified of the creatures than for each other, and with every passing second they got closer and closer, leaving Taeyong no air to breath. 

A sound came out of Jongin’s mouth, but before it could form into a coherent sentence or word, a scream erupted from the speakers, and Taeyong watched as Sungchan tripped. Silence fell across the lounge and all Taeyong focused on was Kun’s rapid breathing, the way he gripped the couch they were sitting on. 

Unlike what Taeyong had expected, the creature stopped running. As if it wanted to wait until it could chase him again, like the thrill of the kill wasn’t enough and it needed the chase, too. “What’s it doing?” 

“No idea.” Kun answered, and when Taeyong turned around he was greeted by Kun slumped over, his hands on his knees as he leaned over to watch the scene unfold.

Jisung was getting closer and closer, and there was nowhere for him to go. He couldn’t run into the alleyways, for they were unknown to him, and Taeyong doubted if Jisung stopped running, his creature would stop as well. 

Just as Taeyong felt like he could breathe again, albeit slightly and shaky, Sungchan jumped back up and started running again. His face was covered by his hair and the audience was unable to see his expression, but he was now holding onto a knife. Before either Jongin or Kun could say anything, turn to one another or even breathe, Jisung took them by surprise and lunged, driving a dagger right into Sungchan’s chest. 

The silence around the lounge turned deafening as Sungchan fell to the ground. The creatures stopped running, heaving for air a few feet away from where Jisung stood. He leaned over Sungchan’s body, making Taeyong’s heart stop in his chest. He didn’t know how Jisung could believe that these monsters wouldn’t lunge for him right away, but he seemed to think that checking Sungchan was far more important. 

Jisung stood over Sungchan’s body for a few seconds before he leaned in further, his hand curling around the handle of the dagger. Taeyong watched as Jisung tried to pull it out, but before he could come very far, Sungchan’s arm raised into the air and slid Jisung’s throat. 

Everything went hazy after that. Taeyong remembered a scream that vibrated through his entire body, one that didn’t come from any of them. It was someone in the crowd, a sponsor perhaps, or someone who had placed a bet on either Jisung or Sungchan. 

Kun and Jongin kept their mouths shut for nearly twenty minutes, and Teayong had never felt so helpless around the two of them. Doyoung had jumped up to get them both a glass of water after ten minutes of silence, after they had watched the hovercrafts take their bodies away and listened for the cannons. The animals had gone again, called into the forest by some unknown force. 

Taeyong doubted they were still in the Arena. They had done what they had been created for, had managed to kill off two tributes without actually touching them with any of their paw-like limbs. After both Jongin and Kun had sipped on their water for a few minutes, had kept their eyes away from Johnny, Doyoung or Johnny, Kun was the first to look up from where he had been staring at the table. 

“He was only fifteen.” Kun whispered. Taeyong’s heart broke as he spoke. Fifteen. Far too young to die, especially in such a cruel way. “His brother has only one leg. I don’t know what I’m going to tell them.” 

Taeyong reached over to place a hand on Kun’s knee, squeezing. “We’ll figure it out, okay? For now, you need to get some fresh air.” 

Kun listened without much protest, his eyes almost glazed over as he moved from the chair he had been sitting on. Taeyong watched him walk away, his shoulders slumped but head still held high. Taeyong respected Kun for that, and kept his eyes on him for a few more seconds before turning back to Jongin. 

Jongin was still staring at the table, his hand holding onto the glass that Doyoung had presented him with. None of them said a word, just watched Jongin and alternated between the screen and him. Taeyong had no idea what Jongin was thinking, but by the way his eyes seemed to water, it couldn’t be anything good. 

Taeyong didn’t blame him, though. The sight of Sungchan’s knife slashing Jisung’s throat wasn’t something he would forget, anytime soon, and he can’t begin to imagine how Jongin must have felt watching that take place. 

Jongdae came onto the screen again, joined by another Gamemaker this time. The man was a bit older, perhaps in his late thirties, but he wore a similar scary grin to Dejun. As if the animals had done right. Perhaps they had gotten a treat, too. A human arm. Or head. 

Taeyong listened to them talk, as if Jisung hadn’t been a thirteen year old boy with hopes and dreams, a family that loved him dearly and a future. Jisung had been alive, and kind. Nobody deserved a death in the Arena, brutally murdered for entertainment, but one of the cruelest things the Capitol had done was adding young children to the Games. 

Unprepared, mostly innocent kids fighting eighteen year olds that had trained their entire childhood for their Games. It was simply unfair, uncalled for, but there was nothing Taeyong could do to stop it. No matter how much he wanted to. 

“It’s cruel.” was the first word Jongin said after yet another five minutes. 

“Far too cruel.” Johnny then said, and he was the only one who could relate even somewhat. Taeyong had lost Yerim, yes, but she hadn’t been thirteen. Yerim had been sixteen, and while her death was just as terrible and haunting, Jisung had been a _child_.

“Can I get you anything?” Doyoung then asked. His hand travelled to find Taeyong’s again, and Taeyong felt warmth spread through his system for the briefest of seconds. He couldn’t help but worry about Jeno, wherever he was in the Arena. He hadn’t shown his face just yet, apart from this morning when an older lady had given Taeyong money to buy Jeno soup. Doyoung hadn’t liked it, would have preferred to give Jeno the soup himself, but Taeyong hadn’t allowed him to do it. 

“No, thank you. I’m going to get some fresh air, too.” Taeyong watched Jongin walk away too, off to where Kun also was. He worried for them, but he was sure they would come back eventually. Whether that would be tomorrow or today, still, wouldn’t matter. They needed time, and Taeyong couldn’t blame them for it. 

Instead, he tried to focus back on the Games. He watched as they showed the tributes gathering food, the boy from two struggling with his injury. Taeyong was surprised that the girl from two hadn’t killed him yet, despite the fact that they had probably known one another in school. They were the same age, and Taeyong could only imagine them standing in their schoolyard together. Probably a bigger, more well preserved schoolyard. Unlike the one Taeyong had spent his days in, overgrown, made out of sand and the building itself close to collapsing. 

Jimin had shown herself, coming out of her tree long enough for Johnny to rush and send her something with the money from a sponsor. The girl from one had hidden herself in the abandoned buildings, and Taeyong wondered whether she had seen the monsters, the animals that had threatened to tear Jisung and Sungchan to shreds. 

Jeno was still hidden somewhere Taeyong could not see him, and he wondered how exactly he was doing. Perhaps he had found a safe spot to rest, gather his thoughts and wits. He was in the top five now, something he wouldn’t know about until the night fell in the Arena, and if he wanted to make it, he would have to be prepared to kill.

The thought of Jeno having to kill Jimin sent unpleasant shivers down his spine. Without meaning to, Taeyong cast a glance to where Johnny had sat back down, his eyes focused on the screen. According to Johnny, Jimin was fierce. Perhaps she would be the one to kill Jeno, or they would never cross paths at all. It was a possibility with the other tributes still alive, and Taeyong found himself hoping that someone else would kill Jimin. 

He didn’t want Jeno to kill more people. He wanted Jeno to hide until everyone was dead, but with only five tributes left, it would be easier and easier to get sponsors, which meant either food or medicine. The tributes would be able to stay alive for far too long, and eventually the Capitol would take it upon themselves to kill the tributes until only one was left. Taeyong knew the Gamemakers were capable of anything, especially after seeing the monsters they had sent into the Arena, and he doubted they would keep the tributes alive for much longer. 

They needed a show, after all, and people wouldn’t watch without suspense. And people needed to watch, needed to see. Taeyong feared that the things the Gamemakers had in store would be much, much worse compared to the monsters they had already seen, and he hoped that Jeno was planning somewhere. 

It wasn’t like Taeyong had never seen mutts before. Usually, though, they were smaller animals. Snakes ready to bite a tribute that wasn’t paying attention, a monkey rushing a tribute into a circle of others ready to be killed. But nothing like this, like the tiger-like animals they had seen just now. Or a fireball coming out of nowhere. 

The Gamemakers were known for making it more interesting, for guiding tributes toward one another to grow the suspense, and Taeyong had always despised them. Now, though, he had a face to hate, and he couldn’t stop thinking about Dejun and his sadistic grin. 

“How do you think Jeno is doing?” Doyoung asked. Taeyong almost felt bad answering the question, for two of his friends had just lost their last tributes, but he shrugged it off. For now, he needed to focus on the Games, on keeping Jeno alive. After everything was over, he could comfort his friends properly. 

“I think he’s hiding somewhere. He has food and water, so if he’s smart he stays hidden until at least tomorrow.” Taeyong hoped that Jeno would stay hidden, at least for a few more hours as the tributes from two continued to walk in all sorts of directions. Even with the way the boy was stumbling, Taeyong feared that Jeno wouldn’t be able to take both of them. 

“Are you alright?” Doyoung then asked, and Taeyong shrugged. Lying to Doyoung was no longer possible. Perhaps if they hadn’t spent every waking — and now sleeping, too — moment together, he would have succeeded in lying to him. So, to avoid Doyoung having to push him when he clearly didn’t feel too good himself, either, Taeyong shook his head right after. 

“It’s just so — fucking terrible.” 

Doyoung hummed. Taeyong allowed for him to pull him closer, the warmth that Doyoung always seemed to carry with him washing over him like a blanket. There were tears hidden behind Taeyong’s eyes, ready to come out, but Taeyong blinked them away. He focused back on the screen where Jongdae sat, smiling, and he tried to forget about the image of two boys who hadn’t known one another killing each other with fear in their eyes. 

Fidgeting with his hands, Taeyong waited for Doyoung to get to the studio and pick him up. The abundance of people walking around was insane, rushing with make-up trays and outfits that Taeyong had no idea about where they were going, at all. 

Jongdae didn’t look like he changed throughout many of the recordings despite his tendency to love an extravagant suit, so Taeyong had no idea where all the clothes were going. Then again, he couldn’t exactly bring him to care. It was a television studio, he should have expected this. 

The interview had gone well, in Taeyong’s own opinion. Jongdae had mainly asked questions about Jeno and whether Taeyong thought he was doing well, and Taeyong had kept the conversation about that for the most part. There was no need to promote him to any potential sponsors, not with just the five tributes left, and so he had spent his interview talking about Jeno and what his life was like in seven.

Of course, Jongdae had also brought up Yerim. Taeyong had expected it and Baekhyun had warned him about it, too, but it still managed to catch Taeyong off guard. He hadn’t allowed himself to think about her much at all. Her death was a frequent visitor in his nightmares and every time blinked, he saw the spear hit her in the chest. He hadn’t allowed himself to think about it much, for he was scared that if he did, he would lose the ability to mentor Jeno through his last few days of the Games. 

After meeting with her parents and her sister, Taeyong would allow himself the time to mourn. For now, he focused on Jeno as much as he could. He had expressed his grief in the interview, and how Yerim had been far too young to die, and he told Jongdae about her parents very briefly before the older moved the conversation back to Jeno. 

Taeyong could see Seulgi standing in the corner, her stylists powdering her face as she waited. Taeyong had seen her in the lounge a couple of times, showing her face for the cameras that were around, but other than that, he hadn’t seen her around much. She had been present at the Parade, of course, and the tribute interviews, but Taeyong supposed those were official duties. 

Seulgi saw no need in gathering sponsors for her tributes. As the most recent victor for Two, Taeyong guessed she didn’t have to worry about it at all. The Career districts always managed to get plenty of sponsors and if not, they had people betting on them. She stood tall, her long red high-heels making her look even more intimidating, and Taeyong swallowed. 

Despite the predicament one of her tributes was in she didn’t seem too worried about it. She kept checking her watch, the screen glowing in the darkness of her corner, and Taeyong wondered if she had somewhere to be. Perhaps she had an appointment to get her killer nails done, Taeyong didn’t know. He preferred not to, anyway. According to Baekhyun, Seulgi could be quite the bitch if she wanted to be. 

She probably thought that this was her last year as a mentor, and Taeyong couldn’t blame her for such confidence. Last year, district one had won with Giselle, but Seulgi had been the victor the year before that. Taeyong envied her the slightest amount, for he wanted to stop being a mentor, too. 

He couldn’t, though. Not until Seven had another victor. And while Jeno stood a chance, Taeyong also didn’t want to think about the fact that Jeno would become a mentor if he won. 

Taeyong moved away from the stage when one of the girls rushing around the floor made a motion for him to step aside. The stage was simple, but sophisticated. The colors for the Games seemed to be a soft purple this year, the hue of the soft colour spreading around the studio. He didn’t know who had chosen the colours, but it seemed far too innocent of a colour for something as horrendous as the Hunger Games. Then again, the Hunger Games were no longer seen as horrendous in the Capitol. Not anymore, at least. 

A hand was placed on his shoulder and Taeyong startled, turning around as fast as he could. He was greeted by an Avox with wide eyes, her bright red hair tied in an incredibly tight looking knot, and Taeyong took a deep breath. “Sorry, you startled me.” 

The Avox couldn’t answer. Taeyong watched her nod slowly before raising her hand, motioning for Taeyong to follow her. He did, following her through the halls of the television studio until they stepped through a door and reached the outside. It seemed to be a back-parking lot, hidden behind the concrete building, and Taeyong heaved a breath. It was by no means fresh, not like the air in Seven, but it was better than the one inside. 

The Avox moved to walk away as a car drove onto the pavement of the parking lot, but Taeyong stopped her. She looked startled, her eyes wide with terror, and Taeyong sighed. “Thank you, for taking me outside.” 

She looked like she had no idea what to do with that information, for her startled expression morphed into one of surprise. She nodded hastily before rushing back inside, and Taeyong watched her fiery red hair disappear into the dark halls of the studio. He wondered whether she would be punished for taking too long, but before he could really think about it, a honk made him jump. 

Once again, Taeyong turned around with his heart in his throat. Doyoung got out of the car, looking absolutely stunning in all of his suit-pant glory, and Taeyong sighed. “You scared me.” 

Doyoung had the gall to look sheepish, walking up to him and grabbing Taeyong’s hand. “Sorry, babe. That was the driver’s fault.” 

Taeyong raised an eyebrow, but he followed Doyoung into the car anyway. The driver didn’t say a word as they pulled away from the studio and moved onto the road to drive back to the Lounge, but Taeyong believed Doyoung instantly. The driver was impatient, honking at each and every car that they passed that wasn’t driving fast enough, and by the time they reached the lounge, Taeyong was glad to get out of the car. 

“What’s with him, anyway?” Taeyong asked as they walked inside. Doyoung shrugged, the doors sliding open to reveal the lounge. Nothing notable had happened since Sungchan and Jisung’s deaths the day before, and while Taeyong had been able to monitor the Games back at the studio, he still felt anxious as he looked at the screen. 

“Overheard him calling his wife. Apparently they had placed bets on Sungchan.”

Taeyong sighed. Kun hadn’t come back to the lounge after Sungchan’s passing, and Taeyong couldn’t blame him. For them, the passing of a tribute was terrible, perhaps traumatizing, but to most of the Capitol residents it meant a lost bet, money gone to waste in a sponsorship and shorter entertainment. 

The difference was harrowing, but Taeyong forced himself not to think about it. Instead, he allowed for Doyoung to pull him to a couch that was still empty. Johnny was probably on his way to the studio for his own interview, for Jimin belonged to the top five as well, and so their group had dwindled down to two people. 

Taeyong spotted Baekhyun standing at one of the tables, his hair now a bright pink. He had spoken to him the day before, Baekhyun coming over to present his condolences for Kun and Jongin and whether Taeyong wanted to tell them for him or not. Of course Taeyong had promised Baekhyun that he would tell them, and after that Baekhyun had asked him how he was doing. 

Taeyong had told Baekhyun that he was doing alright, that he was feeling a bit more hopeful, and Baekhyun had nodded and hummed along, agreeing with him. Jeno had the potential to win if the boy from two died, for the girl from one had also chosen not to come out of her hiding spot any longer. Her sponsors had sent her multiple gifts, but they still lay hidden in the bushes, the silver parachutes long gone. 

That left the girl from two and Jimin, and that was someone Taeyong didn’t want to think about. Johnny wouldn’t hate him if Jeno killed Jimin, wouldn’t take it personally because it _wasn’t_ , but Taeyong couldn’t help the hope that someone would get to her, first. It was one of the dangers of befriending other mentors, genuinely befriending them. Johnny was more friendly with a few others, but he didn’t care for them after the Games ended.

Taeyong received a phone call every now and again, and a letter and painting from Kun. Perhaps, after these Games, he would get a few phone calls from Jongin, too. 

Baekhyun turned his head as if he sensed someone watching him, and they made eye contact. The district representative simply smiled and gave Taeyong a thumbs-up, making Taeyong smile back at him before turning back to Doyoung. 

“They’re showing the interviews tonight, right?” Taeyong asked him, and Doyoung nodded. 

“Right before the night falls in the Arena, I think.” 

“Do you think they’ll keep the Arena quiet for today?” Taeyong knew his voice showed hope he shouldn’t have, but he couldn’t help it. From the tributes still alive, Jeno was the only one who had gotten himself a surprise from the Gamemakers. The thought of the others still getting theirs terrified him. 

Doyoung shrugged, “I honestly don’t know. I doubt they’ll hurry the Games along.” 

Taeyong hummed. The Sixty-Fourth Hunger Games had been a fairly short one. All tributes except for Jeonghan, who had managed to come out as a victor for district one, had been dead within a week. Including Taeyong’s own tributes. 

Certainly, the Gamemakers and the President wanted a longer spectacle this time. “I hope you’re right about that.”

Quiet filled the apartment. The television was on, displaying the Arena in which night had already fallen, and the only sound that could be heard was the sound of the trees blowing in the wind. With no tribute in sight, the arena was quiet and seemed deserted, but everybody knew that it wasn’t. Not by a long shot. 

Jeno had taken refuge in a tree, strapped in with the ropes from his backpack. Taeyong watched as the boy slept, his eyes closed and calm but his hand closed around the handle of a knife. Taeyong feared that Jeno wouldn’t be able to relax for a long time, even if he made it out of the Arena alive. Taeyong couldn’t remember the last time he slept and woke up fully rested, after all. 

“Aren’t you going to bed?” Doyoung’s voice carried through the room from where he was standing in the doorway of their shared bedroom. He was holding a towel, drying his hair as he talked, and Taeyong felt the sudden urge to kiss him. They hadn’t kissed, yet. Soft pecks on their cheeks or other body parts, sure, but not on the lips. Taeyong wondered why that was, but he could take a guess. Perhaps Doyoung wanted to take things slow, and Taeyong couldn’t exactly blame him, no matter his reasoning.

If Doyoung chose not to kiss Taeyong because he seemed too unstable, Taeyong understood. If Doyoung decided not to kiss Taeyong because he wanted it to be special, he got that, too. A multitude of reasons for Doyoung not to kiss Taeyong entered his mind, some kinder than others, and Taeyong tried to push them away. 

No matter how many times Taeyong had experienced this, it still felt wrong to think about anything else other than the Hunger Games and his tributes while the event was still happening. Of course, in the years before this one, Taeyong’s other thoughts were of his flowers, of books he wanted to read and time he could spend with his friends. He would call Taeil every once in a while and even Yuta, someone he didn’t speak to a whole lot anymore, and that had always served to make him feel incredibly guilty.

Now, though, his thoughts were about another human being. Taeyong had thought of Doyoung before they got closer, sure, had had a few daydreams of the man taking him apart and putting him back together again with those beautiful hands of his, but he had always pushed them away. His attraction had been purely sexual at first, but ever since that first coffee Doyoung had succeeded in getting Taeyong’s romantic attraction, too.

A part of Taeyong still thought it was ridiculous, for their differences were just too big, but the other part wanted to explore, wanted to do this. Taeyong hadn’t had many nice things in his life, and perhaps he deserved this one thing. To have a good time with Doyoung and see where it would end up. Taeyong didn’t dare think of a future, for they weren’t even officially dating yet, but the thought of having Doyoung at home with him, in Seven, sent warmth surging through him. 

“Yeah, in a minute.” He answered, moving his eyes back to the screen. His interview had already been broadcasted, edited to sound more dramatic as usual, but Taeyong hadn’t exactly hated it, to his very own surprise. Baekhyun had looked more than happy with it, and according to Doyoung it would be very good PR for Jeno. While Taeyong hated the thought of pretending like Jeno was a product to be sold, he knew that it was important. Not so much for the Games anymore, for Jeno had people charmed from the very beginning, but for the life he would lead after. If he survived, he needed good PR for his mentorship. 

“Nothing is going to happen, baby. I already have the television in the bedroom on.” Taeyong sighed, but nodded. He stood and watched the television turn itself off, before turning to Doyoung. The nickname was a newer development, but Taeyong loved it. It made him feel dainty, like Doyoung didn’t see the scars littering his body every time he undressed in front of him. Like Doyoung didn’t associate Taeyong with the Hunger Games or with the murder of innocent teenagers, but with just him. With coffee dates and the promise of a golfing class. 

Doyoung pulled him into the room and Taeyong allowed him to push him down onto the bed. He moved to unbutton his shirt, but Doyoung stopped him. Taeyong raised an eyebrow, “Wh—”

“Let me.” Doyoung whispered. A flush spread across Taeyong’s cheeks almost instantly, but he didn’t protest. Doyoung’s hands were warm, the shower water hot in the Capitol no matter what time of day it was, but goosebumps still appeared on his skin. Taeyong felt the hot puffs of Doyoung’s breath on his skin with every opened button, and he shivered. 

Doyoung was gentle as he pushed the now unbuttoned shirt from Taeyong’s shoulders. Every nerve-end felt like it was on fire, the hairs on the back of his neck standing upright. Doyoung didn’t say a word as he moved around, and before Taeyong knew it he was sitting shirtless on the bed. The room was warm despite the air conditioning, like Doyoung had fiddled with the temperature for a little bit, and Taeyong couldn’t help but flash him a tiny smile. 

“Kiss me.” He whispered when Doyoung’s face was right in front of his. The words were out of his mouth before Taeyong could stop them, but he didn’t regret them. He kept his eyes focused on Doyoung’s, his throat constricting with the nerves. 

Doyoung raised an eyebrow. Not in the menacing way he did whenever a journalist said something stupid, or one of the Sponsors made a crude remark, but in a way that just made him look confused. “Are you— are you sure?” 

Taeyong nodded. “Please.” 

That seemed to be enough, for Doyoung closed the distance between them within a split second. Doyoung’s lips were soft, like Taeyong had expected them to be, but his actions were anything but. Doyoung kissed with such raw emotion it had Taeyong’s heart beating out of his chest. It was clear that he had experience, but Taeyong tried to get rid of that thought. He wanted to think of Doyoung and only Doyoung right now.

He raised his arms and wrapped them around Doyoung’s neck, pulling him impossibly closer. Doyoung pushed him down onto the bed and Taeyong let him, the feeling of Doyoung on top of him making him arch his back. Doyoung chuckled into the kiss, his tongue exploring Taeyong’s mouth, and Taeyong felt himself smiling against Doyoung’s lips.

Taeyong was the first one to pull away, his lungs begging for air. He pushed the back of his head into the mattress, effectively disconnecting their lips. He opened his eyes to be met with Doyoung’s already staring back at him, and the sudden need to laugh bubbled up in Taeyong’s chest. He allowed the first giggle to pass from between his lips, and Doyoung followed. 

“You’re a good kisser.” Taeyong said after a few moments of laughing, his face pressed into the crook of Doyoung’s neck. His neck was straining already, but he didn’t move. Doyoung chuckled again, his hands caressing Taeyong’s sides. 

“You too. That was lovely.” Doyoung answered. The bed shifted and Doyoung dropped himself onto his side, allowing for Taeyong to cuddle into him. They hadn’t gotten properly dressed for bed yet, but Taeyong couldn’t be bothered about that. Instead, he hummed and pressed his face back into the crook of Doyoung’s neck. Doyoung felt safe and warm, and Taeyong was still floating from the kiss and Doyoung’s soft touches on his chest. 

“We should get dressed for bed.” Taeyong whined at the loss of Doyoung’s touch as he got out of bed, but didn’t move to follow. His slacks were comfortable enough for him to wear to bed, but when Doyoung held out a pair of satin pajama pants, he moved to change anyway. They were quiet as they got dressed, but once Doyoung led Taeyong back into bed, Taeyong opened his mouth. 

“What does this all mean?” He asked. A fear that Taeyong had held onto for the past few weeks was starting to grow in his chest, the memory of Doyoung’s lips on his fueling them, and he needed to know. 

Doyoung hummed. Taeyong cuddled in closer, laying his head on Doyoung’s chest as he did so. Doyoung placed a soft kiss into his hair, and Taeyong felt the butterflies in his stomach take over the feeling of fear. “It means that I rather like you, Taeyong Lee, and I’d like it if I could call you mine.” 

_Mine._ The word was so inherently possessive, like Taeyong was an object to claim, but he knew that Doyoung didn’t think of him that way. Besides, Taeyong had always liked to be wanted, much like any other human. “Only if I can call you mine, too.” 

Taeyong could feel Doyoung smile against his hair, and a giddy feeling spread itself across Taeyong’s body. The feeling was so different from the fear that Taeyong had harbored ever since he woke up on the morning of the Reaping that he had no idea what to do with it for a few seconds. He settled on just letting the feeling be, not pushing it away as it took over his heartbeat, and allowed for Doyoung’s touch against his sides to cloud his head. 

“Of course.” 

“How are we going to make this work?” Despite the cloud now in his head, Taeyong still felt anxious. Doyoung didn’t seem to share that sentiment, for Taeyong felt him shrug under him. His head moved as Doyoung’s shoulders did, the movement jostling him a little bit, but he stayed put. 

“Day by day. I want to be with you, Yongie, and you want to be with me. That’s all that matters.” 

Taeyong hummed. He pushed the worry that he still felt away, burying it under the giddy feeling and his butterflies. The Arena still hadn’t made any noise, the tributes probably already fast asleep, and Taeyong was reminded of Jeno. Poor Jeno, strapped to the branch of a tree as he prepared for yet another day to fight through. Taeyong had no idea what the Gamemakers had in store for the last few days of the Games, but it couldn’t be anything good. 

“I’ll keep watch. Get some sleep.” Doyoung had told him that same exact thing ever since the first night they shared a bed, and it still managed to make Taeyong feel like he was the most important person in the room to Doyoung. He nodded and was just about to close his eyes when something on the screen caught his attention. It was a soft white, shimmering in the Arena sky, and Taeyong gasped. 

“Is that — is that snow?” He whispered against Doyoung’s skin. Doyoung tensed under Taeyong’s head and for a second neither of them said anything. They watched the white snowflakes descend onto the ground, and Taeyong felt the urge to scream grow in his chest with every passing second. 

Jeno had a tarp he could use as a blanket, but it wouldn’t be enough to keep him warm. It was dangerous to make a fire, for he could be easily spotted, but if he didn’t do anything, he could die of frostbite. Taeyong wanted to curse, wanted to scream and cry as the anger rose high in his chest, but Doyoung pulled him back. In his anger, Taeyong had sat up in bed, and Doyoung pulled him down onto the mattress again.

The unfairness of it all made Taeyong want to turn the air conditioning up even higher. Summer was in full swing in the Capitol, the streets growing warmer with every passing day, and yet, in the Arena, it was snowing. This wasn’t an accident or an effect from nature. This was done on purpose, to endanger the tributes, and Taeyong feared the solution the Gamemakers were going to offer. 

“Sleep, baby. He’s going to need you tomorrow.” 

Taeyong believed Doyoung’s words. He placed a kiss against the skin of Doyoung’s bare neck before closing his eyes, waiting for the darkness to take him. 

When Taeyong walked into the lounge the next morning, the crowd had lessened significantly compared to the day before. There were less people taking up space on the couches, less hanging by the bar, and Taeyong only spotted the mentors of the tributes that were still alive. 

It wasn’t uncommon for the other mentors to stop coming. To keep to their apartments, griefing by themselves without the prying eyes of the Capitol cameras, and Taeyong had done it before, too. He didn’t spot Jongin nor Kun in the lounge, either, and while he understood their decision and respected their need for privacy, it added a bitter taste to his already dry throat. 

Taeyong had barely managed to get breakfast down. Doyoung had forced him to at least eat half of his plate before he was allowed to leave for the lounge. Taeyong had listened, of course, but he felt like his food pushed against his chest. He felt ready to vomit, to rush to the closest bathroom and hurl everything back out, but he didn’t. He swallowed, wishing for it to go back down. It didn’t, but Taeyong tried not to think about it. 

Instead, he straightened out his shoulders and swallowed once more. Taeyong spotted Johnny sitting on one of the plush chairs, alone, and he didn’t hesitate to make his way over. In earlier years, Baekhyun had always been the one Taeyong clung to, talked to the entire day before going to bed alone. Now, he found comfort in the way Johnny flashed him a small smile as he took a seat in one of the other plush chairs surrounding the small table in the middle. Taeyong knew that Baekhyun would show up today, for he was still Taeyong’s friend and the representative for Seven, and Taeyong would focus on him then, too. For now, though, he made eye-contact with Johnny. 

Johnny looked tired. More tired than usual, before the Games began. He had bags under his eyes that could probably rival Taeyong’s if it were a contest. But, it wasn’t. Instead of triumph, Taeyong felt dread. He wanted for his friend to sleep, to peacefully get some rest, but he knew that that was nearly impossible. Not just because of the Hunger Games they were mentors for, but also the memories of their own. 

“Morning.” Johnny said, hiding his exhaustion by making his smile even bigger. Taeyong wasn’t fooled, but he didn’t let it show. He missed the weight of Doyoung’s arm around his waist, but Doyoung had rushed to the Peacekeepers and Gamemakers who oversaw the sponsoring of the Games almost immediately after they had walked into the building. 

Taeyong hummed, “Morning. Did you sleep?” 

Johnny didn’t seem hurt by Taeyong’s question. His smile slipped off of his face, a grimace replacing it, and Taeyong sighed. “Not really. After the first snow fell I felt wide awake.” 

Taeyong thought of the way he had slept. Guilt gripped at his throat, making his chest constrict in the worst way possible, but he tried to shove it down. Doyoung had made him sleep, and Taeyong was sure that if Johnny had had someone around, Johnny would have slept, too. 

It didn’t calm the guilt from rising, but it kept it from spilling from his lips. For now, Taeyong was fine with that. “I only did because Doyoung kept watch.” 

Johnny’s grimace turned back into a smile, albeit a smaller one. “Kept watch, huh?”

Lots of assumptions echoed in Johnny’s words, the slight raise of his eyebrow, and Taeyong supposed it was normal. He could see the slight relief in Johnny’s shoulders, the ability to think of something else other than the death of Jimin in her tree. It made Taeyong want to tell him, just to have a few moments of joy. Instead, he simply smiled. 

That would be enough to keep Johnny’s mind going for a little bit, perhaps even enough for the other mentor to figure it out, but Taeyong tried not to focus on it. He could almost feel the way the gears in Johnny’s head were turning, but he turned to look at the screen instead. The snow had long stopped, Taeyong knew, but he couldn’t help the worry in his stomach. It still looked cold, like the Arena was freezing, and perhaps it was. They wouldn’t know until a still alive tribute took a breath, showing the small puff of a breath in the air. 

But, the Arena was still very much asleep, kept in the dark while the Capitol and the rest of Panem had already woken up. Taeyong raised an eyebrow. Usually, during the last few days of the Games, they would make it day faster. The tributes would get confused, tired, and vulnerable to both the elements and the other tributes that were still alive. It was a toxic mix, almost poisonous like the venom of a snake, and Taeyong remembered it well from his own days in the Arena. 

“Why are they keeping it dark?” Taeyong asked. 

Johnny shrugged. “I have no idea. Nobody seems to know, really.” 

It had to be a plan of Dejun’s. He had shown his capabilities with the fireball for Jeno and the monsters for Jisung and Sungchan, but the other tributes remained oblivious to the dangerous creatures that could potentially harm them at any moment. “It has to be a plan.” 

“I don’t do—” 

Johnny’s words were interrupted by the rushed manner in which Doyoung sat down next to Taeyong, grasping the attention away from Johnny in an instant. “They won’t accept gifts.” 

Taeyong raised an eyebrow, forgoing looking at Johnny to look at Doyoung, instead. “What do you mean?” 

Doyoung closed his eyes. “The Gamemakers aren’t accepting any gifts for the tributes.” 

Taeyong’s heart sank. So far, there had only been two other instances where the Gamemakers refused the gifts of sponsors. During the first nine Hunger Games, it wasn’t allowed. No connection between the tributes and the rest of the Capitol at all. The second one was when, during the fiftieth Hunger Games, non-registered sponsors were also allowed to send gifts. 

According to many, it had been a mess of parachutes in the Arena. Taeyong couldn’t remember it, for he had just been a small child at the time, still coddled by his father’s demand to not watch the games, but according to his father and teachers, the president shut it down after two days of the Games. The Tributes, as a punishment for the recklessness of the Capitol, had to suffer through the rest of the Games without any help. It had made the Quarter Quell so much worse. 

This meant it had to be part of a plan, for the president hadn’t made a national call to announce the sudden stop of gifts. Before Taeyong could open his mouth to say something, though, Jongdae’s voice echoed through the speakers. 

“ _Honored Tributes. We congratulate you all on getting this far in the sixty-fifth annual Hunger Games. It has not been an easy feat for some of you, and the Capitol wishes you all well. Due to the sudden weather changes in the arena, a feast will be held at the Cornucopia. Something that you all need will be there, waiting for you. Only take what is meant to be yours, for we do not condone cheating. The consequences of violating such rules are up to you. Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favour._ ” 

Taeyong sat, frozen to his seat, as he continued to listen to Jongdae’s voice. He was merely announcing the weather report for that day — unbearable heat — and Taeyong knew that he was no longer hearable in the Arena. He watched the screen, the anxiety growing in the pit of his stomach until it filled not only that but also his throat, and he grabbed Doyoung’s hand without having to look for it. 

The sun slowly rose in the Arena. Taeyong watched it as the people in the lounge went about their day. The first bottle of wine had already been opened, people sipping from the rich alcohol as they waited for the tributes to rise from their sleep. For the first hour or so, not much happened. Jimin was shown still in her tree, but she was wide awake. She seemed to be thinking about something, and Taeyong knew exactly what that was. 

“Do you think she will go?” He asked Johnny, who had been staring at the screen much like Taeyong. The other was holding a glass of what Taeyong could only hope to be water or some sort of clear soda, his knuckles white with the force he used. Johnny was strong enough to break glass if he wanted to, but he wasn’t in his best form. The glass remained unbroken for now, though, and Taeyong felt himself relax slightly. 

Johnny shrugged, as if he didn’t care. His voice betrayed him, though. “I don’t know. She doesn’t look like she needs anything, but her curiosity might make her go.” 

The screen changed from Jimin to the girl from two. She seemed to be struggling, holding onto the boy from two as he limped through the sand in the abandoned town. They were exposed, out in the open, but that didn’t seem to faze either of them as they continued on walking. The only real threat to them was the girl from one, and Taeyong allowed his gaze to glide through the lounge. 

He found Seulgi sitting among a gaggle of Capitol people, sipping on what Taeyong could only assume to be red wine. It seemed as though she was already celebrating, for she hadn’t shown her face in the lounge much before this. Perhaps she was eager to see which of her tributes would fall and which would win, convinced that district two would arise as victors once more. 

Taeyong felt the bitter taste in his mouth return. He looked away from her, focusing his eyes back on the screen instead. Jeno was untangling himself, his backpack already tied to his back. Taeyong wasn’t sure whether he wanted Jeno to go to the Cornucopia, but if Jeno chose to, he had no way of stopping him. He didn’t know what it was that Jeno might need. The only thing Taeyong could hope for was that if Jeno chose to go, he came out alive. 

It wasn’t the first time the Gamemakers lured the tributes to a particular spot in the Arena, egging on a bloodbath that always presented itself on the first day of the Games. Taeyong hadn’t experienced it during his own Games, but he had seen it happen before. It never became any easier, and Taeyong suspected that it wouldn’t be easy this time, either. 

“I think he’s going to go.” Doyoung said from beside Taeyong. Taeyong didn’t answer. Instead, he squeezed Doyoung’s hand and waited. 

It turned out that they didn’t have to wait too long. The girl from district one seemed eager to get the gift the Gamemakers had prepared for her, for she was the first to show her face through the treeline. She looked around anxiously, but she didn’t have to. No one else had shown their face to the Cornucopia just yet. Taeyong knew that the girl and boy from Two were either preparing themselves or on their way — Doyoung and Johnny had taken the guess that there would be medicine in there for the boys’ wound that wasn’t easy to get at all — and if they were correct, the boy would probably be eager to go. 

The girl from One showing her face made the lounge grow a bit more tense. Conversations dwindled down into whispers, the music in the background lowering its volume. Taeyong watched as she moved further onto the field, wary of whatever might happen. He couldn’t blame her, for the last few days in the Arena were everything _but_ normal. He wasn’t sure whether she knew what had taken place in the Arena, how the animals had made Jisung and Sungchan kill each other. 

She had been there when Jeno ran from the ball of fire that seemed to chase him, though. And fireballs weren’t normal, let alone ones that follow a particular person around. 

She approached the Cornucopia with slow steps, her eyes continuing to scan the area around her. The Arena was quiet, the silence almost deadly. Taeyong raised an eyebrow, “Can you hear the birds?”

Doyoung looked at him. He seemed to think for a second, perhaps focus on the sounds in the Arena, before shaking his head. “No.”

“Me neither.” 

Taeyong swallowed. Some birds in the arena were real, others fabricated to be cameras that flew around and watched the tributes from afar, but they all made noise. They all used their call, their own sound, and if the Gamemakers had turned the camera ones quiet, the likelihood of the real ones going quiet was very real. “That can’t be good.” 

The girl had made it to the Cornucopia by now. She looked around, making her way around the structure. The table on which the bags stood was large, long and wide, and it resembled one of the dining tables from the President's Mansion. Taeyong sighed. The tributes were invited to their very own feast. 

The girl took the bag with ‘one’ on it before making a run for it. Taeyong gasped as she did so, for the girl from Two suddenly appeared from within the trees. Her bow was loaded already, focused on her target. The girl from One ran in the opposite direction, probably to find refuge in the broken down buildings. Taeyong knew the second the girl from Two had shown herself that she wouldn’t make it there. 

The arrow surged through the air. For a brief second it felt like time had slowed itself down before the arrow bore itself through the right shoulder of the girl from One, and Taeyong watched as she stumbled and fell to the ground. 

The camera flashed back to the girl from Two. Her eyes were on the girl from One as she moved, taking the bag for her own district with the ease of a girl who had trained to be flexible, nimble and quiet. She walked the few dozen feet the girl from One had managed to run, as if there weren’t two other tributes in the Arena who had to kill her in order to claim victory. 

She took her time, wedging the bag the girl from One was holding from her hands. The girl screamed and the camera zoomed in, showing off the tears that were now streaming down her face. Taeyong felt the urge to look away, the want to run off, but he stayed put. Jeno could be shown any second now, and he didn’t want to miss that. He didn’t want to miss another second of Jeno in the arena, for he was too afraid he would miss him either dying or getting hurt, and he didn’t want that. Jeno needed him, especially now, and Taeyong was here to mentor him through it. 

The girl from Two took hold of the arrow stuck in the shoulder of the girl from One, and pulled. A loud scream echoed through the speakers, and Taeyong felt Doyoung wince. He squeezed the hand Doyoung had taken hold of, hoping it would give him comfort. Taeyong knew, though, that he wouldn’t be able to comfort Doyoung if he didn’t feel comfortable himself. And he wasn’t, not even close. 

Taeyong watched as the girl from Two retrieved a knife. With a single, swift movement, she dug it deep into the girl from One’s chest. The cannon rang not even three seconds later, as if the Gamemakers had been waiting for it. Taeyong couldn’t imagine that they hadn’t been waiting, their hands eagerly twitching to press the button. It made bile rise up to Taeyong’s throat, and he swallowed. 

The girl from Two broke into a sprint, now, leaving her knife in the corpse from someone that had once been a girl. Taeyong wondered how her parents were doing. Were they disappointed in her? For the fact that they hadn’t won? Or were they crying, heartbroken at the knowledge that their daughter was now gone? Taeyong didn’t know, and he would never know. 

Seulgi’s face didn’t show any particular emotion, but that wasn’t unusual. Taeyong pretended to not see the way her eyes flashed in satisfaction as the screen displayed a rewind of the murder. 

He turned his head away to look at Johnny, who was looking down at his glass of water. It was harder on him, Taeyong guessed. Jimin and the girl from One had been around the same age with the same build. “Are you good?”

Johnny shrugged, sighing. “Yeah, yeah I am. Just hoping Jimin won’t go.” 

Taeyong hummed. He wasn’t sure whether he wanted Jeno to go anymore, either. He watched as the girl from Two dove back into the treeline, the camera following her as she ran and ran until she reached a particular rock, turning a sharp left. 

Taeyong’s eyes widened. The camera angle changed from watching the girl run, most likely to her ally, to Jeno jumping the last two feet out of a tree with his backpack strapped to his back. They were close. Too close. Taeyong could see the way the girl had stabbed the girl from One without any mercy, how she had pulled the arrow from her shoulder, and he felt his stomach sink. 

The bile that was still in his throat raised back up, nearly in his mouth, and he tensed. Only a few more trees, Taeyong guessed. Jeno turned his head as if he had heard something, his hand already closed around the handle of his knife. Taeyong had no time to say anything, no time to think, as the girl ran right into the small clearing Jeno was standing, his knife already raised and ready to throw. 

It hit her in the chest. Her eyes grew wide like saucers, her hand losing its grip around the bag destined for her district. She fell to the ground, her knees bracing her fall, before she tumbled further. Her body hit the ground with a loud thud, but Taeyong knew that she wasn’t dead.

Jeno seemed to agree, for the way he approached her spoke louder than words. He was anxious, careful as he walked over. With his fists raised, he shuffled toward her on the ground. She didn’t move, her head sideways on the ground. Jeno rushed to take the knife from her chest, her hands barely missing him. She seemed to whisper something, making Jeno stop dead in his tracks. Taeyong wasn’t sure what the girl had said, Jeno’s eyes going back to the kind look he had worn during the Reaping. 

The knife carved through her neck in one swift movement, the cannon ringing not even five seconds later. Jeno was gone by that time, the bags from One and Two clutched in one hand and his knife in the other. Blood dripped from the knife, falling onto the forests’ floor. Taeyong wasn’t sure whether the feeling in his chest could be classified as relief. He untensed, loosening his grip on Doyoung’s hand, and he sighed. 

Taeyong found Seulgi sitting a little more upright, her eyes scanning the room as if searching for someone. Taeyong turned his head away just as she scanned over his part of the lounge, his eyes falling onto Johnny. 

“Only three left.” Came Johnny’s voice. He raised his glass, toasting the air, before he put it to his lips. There was a sadness in his voice, one that Taeyong could feel and understand just the same, and he reached over to grab his own glass of water. He raised it into the air, toward Johnny, before he took a gulp, too. 

The camera angle changed again, showing Jimin as she climbed out of her tree. Her legs wobbled as she touched the ground, her limbs nearly giving out, and Taeyong winced as she held onto the tree in order to gain balance. She hadn’t been out of the tree in nearly two days, if Taeyong’s math was correct, and her body had gotten used to sitting all day. There was no way Jimin would be able to defend herself if it came down to it, but Taeyong still didn’t wish for Jeno to run to her, his knife raised and fear in his eyes. 

Johnny’s focus had gone back to the screen instantly. Jimin took a few steps, tugging on the strap of the small bag she had managed to retrieve. She didn’t have a lot of weapons, but she had her trident. She used it as a cane as she moved through the forest, swatting at branches and leaves until she reached the clearing and the Cornucopia. 

Taeyong heard Johnny let out a soft gasp. Taeyong had no idea what could possibly be in the bag for district Four, but Jimin seemed eager to retrieve it. She kept on walking, her eyes moving around the field as if scanning it, and Taeyong was reminded of the words Johnny had spoken about her in the training center. “ _She is seventeen and fierce and can handle a trident just like me_.”

Taeyong could see the fierceness on her face as she scanned the field around her, her eyes lingering on the buildings like something was about to jump out at her. She was squinting slightly, her eyes flitting around the grass, and she didn’t stop as she reached the Cornucopia. She took hold of the bag that was destined for district Four and rushed to open it, her trident still in her hand as she did so. 

Taeyong watched as she pulled out a bottle of water and a tin of something else. He had no idea what was in there, but Jimin seemed satisfied. She opened the bottle and gulped it down almost immediately, putting the cap back on. She continued to look around as she closed the bag back up, and Taeyong could see the water work its wonders on her. She seemed more alert, her body less limp. “She was slightly dehydrated.” 

Johnny sighed. “Sending water into the Arena is still a hassle.” 

Taeyong raised an eyebrow, ready to protest, but he closed his mouth just as he tried to speak. The possibility of a sponsor smuggling drugs into the arena with a bottle of water was far too easy. It led to sponsors sending in empty bottles, like Doyoung had done for Jeno. 

“She—” Taeyong cut himself off, confusion passing through him like a ghost. Jimin had situated herself on the table, the bag of district seven in her lap. She held onto her trident like it was a staff, making her look vaguely like a queen on her throne. Taeyong closed his eyes, only for images of Jeno’s chest being opened up by her trident to enter his brain. When he opened his eyes back up, Johnny was looking at him. 

“Jeno could take her.”

“Joh—”

“You don’t know that.” Taeyong felt bad for interrupting Doyoung, he really did, but the way Johnny already seemed like he had given up proved to be far too much for him. “She’s strong, she’s good with a trident. You told me so yourself.” 

Johnny chuckled, shaking his head. “She is, but she’s also weakened. Jeno is fast, and stronger than her.” 

“I do—”

“If someone were to kill her, I want it to be Jeno. She told me he seemed nice, during dinner after the Parade. She spoke to him a handful of times during training, I’m pretty sure.” Johnny said, his eyes still on the screen. Taeyong felt his throat close up. He squeezed Doyoung’s hand for comfort, for the tears were threatening to fall. 

“Don’t say that.” Taeyong whispered. He didn’t want to think about that. He didn’t want to think about Jeno having to kill someone who had seen him as a nice person. As someone worth talking about to another mentor. Jeno had never spoken of Jimin apart from a comment on her individual score, but Taeyong wasn’t entirely surprised to know that Jimin and Jeno had spoken. 

“I’m sure that’s what Jimin would want, too.” Doyoung spoke, making Taeyong look at him. He felt a rush of hot anger surge through his veins, but before he could speak on it, Johnny let out a gasp and Taeyong was forced to look back at the screen. 

Jeno had made his way into the clearing, his knife still in hand. It was still covered in the girl from Two’s blood and he was heaving for breath, like he had ran all the way there. Jimin’s eyes fell on him, a smile growing on her face. She put the bag that was destined for Jeno down onto the table before jumping off, raising her trident into the air. 

Taeyong wasn’t sure whether that was meant to be a taunt, a warning or a sign of defeat, but before he could really think about it, a loud bang echoed through the speakers. Jeno and Jimin both startled, turning their heads to where the noise had come from. A loud scream erupted from the speakers then before the trees parted on the other side of the field, the boy from district Two limping like his life depended on it. 

“This is ending today.” Doyoung spoke, and Taeyong knew he was right. The fact settled onto his body like an anchor, pulling him down. He felt like gravity was pulling him down further to the ground, but Taeyong stayed put on the couch. Doyoung wrapped an arm around his waist and Taeyong never wanted him to let go. 

“Not without a spectacle.” Johnny answered. If Taeyong knew the Gamemakers even the slightest amount, he would still agree with Johnny. This time, though, they had seen what Dejun and his team were capable of, and Taeyong couldn’t possibly disagree with him even if he wanted to. 

The boy from Two was still screaming, trying his hardest to limp as fast as he could. Before Taeyong could ask what he was running from, three bigger versions of the monsters from before ran through the treeline, their teeth bared and growls falling from their opened mouths. 

“Oh fuck.” 

Taeyong remembered the moment he realized he had won. Not even a minute after the cannon sounded for the last fallen tribute, Jongdae’s voice had echoed through the Arena. Taeyong had felt exhausted, like his body would collapse as soon as the adrenaline left his body. 

He had been standing in one of the clearings of his Arena, holding onto his axe for dear life. The blood from the girl Taeyong had just killed dripped from it still while the hovercraft flew over, landing a few hundred feet away. Taeyong hadn’t noticed he was crying until the Avox in the hovercraft handed him a handkerchief. The blood on his hands stained his fingers for days, and every time Taeyong closed his eyes he watched the girl fall to her knees, again and again. 

That had never changed. Taeyong still saw her, in his dreams. Ever since his Games, Taeyong hadn’t touched an axe again. It felt wrong to hold one, to feel the heaviness of it in his hand. He had one, of course, but Taeil was always the one to chop their firewood for them. Some days, Yuta came to do it, while Taeyong provided him with warm tea and cake. He could not bear to touch an axe again. 

Jeno’s own axe was strapped to his backpack with a fabricated strap, made out of rope and a branch. He was only holding his knife as the boy from Two kept on running. Jimin and Jeno stood frozen, a dozen feet away from one another but with the same shocked expression on their faces. 

Taeyong wished for Jeno to move. Before he felt the words leave his mouth though, he stopped himself. Jeno was being smart. He was like a statue, unmoving in the wind that seemed to be picking up. Taeyong was reminded of the bears that sometimes wandered into the fields of forest that district Seven owned. How, from a very young age, his father had taught him not to make any noise or move at all when a bear was close. 

The monsters that looked similar to the tigers Taeyong had seen in the Capitol Zoo were bears to Jeno, and Taeyong felt his shoulders relax ever so slightly. Jimin seemed to mirror Jeno’s actions, standing as if nothing could knock her over. Taeyong could see her trembling though, even with the camera being as zoomed out as it was. She was still slightly dehydrated and hungry, her trident and the table digging against the back of her thighs the only two things holding her up. 

The boy from Two yelled something, and Jimin flinched. She tightened her hold around her trident and turned her head. Johnny let out a gasp and Taeyong moved his eyes back to the monsters, and he mirrored Johnny’s gasp. The monsters had stopped running, but their mouths were wide open. Their rows of teeth continued far beyond the point of normal, and Taeyong felt the blood drain out of his face. 

He squeezed Doyoung’s hand. He wasn’t entirely sure what he wanted, but he needed comfort. Doyoung was quick to respond, tightening his hold around Taeyong’s waist. Taeyong felt a pang of guilt as Johnny sat alone, clutching his hand around his glass of water instead. He remembered Johnny mentioning someone in his last phone call, Mark, and he hoped that, whoever he was, he was ready to pick up the broken pieces that resembled Johnny once he got back to Four. 

“You can’t be serious.” 

Taeyong whipped his head back around as gasps filled the room, some people even exclaiming to an almost screaming degree. One of the monsters had completely unhinged its jaw, showing off the rows and rows of razor sharp teeth. The boy from Two was only thirty or so feet away from them, and he was losing strength as he fell to his knees. The monsters didn’t move, though, kept their paws planted on the ground as they growled. 

Jeno stayed still, too, to Taeyong’s relief, but Jimin seemed to think of something. She stepped onto the table, her movement gathering the attention of the three monsters standing near the treeline, and one shot forward. The one with the unhinged jaw stayed put, a cry leaving its lips. Taeyong watched as Jimin continued climbing, using the table to get onto the Cornucopia. 

It was a smart move, one that made the boy from Two let out a loud cry and try to stand back up. The monster that had started to run moved to the Cornucopia, completely disregarding the boy from Two and Jeno, and Taeyong watched as it started, and failed, to climb the horn. It emitted a high pitched wail, making Taeyong’s skin crawl. 

“What are th—”

Doyoung snapped his own jaw shut as the one with the unhinged jaw lurched forward. Taeyong had expected it to run toward the boy from Two and completely ravish him, but this one also ran past. Instead, with its bigger size, it managed to jump onto the table and onto the horn. 

Johnny stood up, his eyes on the screen, and Taeyong wished he could reach out to comfort him. Taeyong wanted to close his eyes just so he wouldn’t have to see this, but he stopped himself. He needed to watch, to stay focused, for Jeno. 

Jeno moved. He took hold of his axe, breaking the weak strap with a simple tug. He rushed forward just as the monster did the same, barely grazing Jimin’s arm. She held out her trident, pushing the pointed fingers toward the animal, but it didn’t seem fazed. Instead, it took the trident in between its teeth and tugged, making Jimin tumble forward and let it go. 

Johnny let out a gasp that sounded far too broken, but Taeyong didn’t have time to react. Jeno threw his arm back with a swing before swinging back forward, letting go of the axe in mid-air. Taeyong watched it fly the few feet Jeno was away from the horn before it hit Jimin in the arm. The monster seemed startled, taking a step back, and Taeyong gasped as Jimin picked up the axe and, seemingly without any hesitation or doubt, hit herself in the head.

The monster took a few more steps back as Jimin’s body fell to the surface of the horn. Taeyong felt tears creeping into his eyes, but he swallowed them down. He pushed away from Doyoung and stood up, walking around the coffee table that separated him and Johnny and tugged him into a hug. Taeyong heard the cannon sound in the distance, signalizing the twenty-third death of the sixty-fifth Hunger Games. He paid it no mind, focused instead on Johnny.

His sobs were quiet, his shoulder shaking but not too much, and it hurt. It hurt that Johnny couldn’t properly show his emotions until the moment he was alone, without the cameras surrounding them. Taeyong was sure the papers would go absolutely crazy with this public show of affection and support, but he didn’t care. His friend needed comfort, and Taeyong wanted to give him that. 

Johnny simply squeezed him close before letting go again, giving Taeyong the space to watch the screen still. Taeyong didn’t sit back down. Doyoung stood up, too, taking a stand next to Taeyong and taking hold of his hand. Taeyong intertwined their fingers, his eyes never leaving the screen, and he swallowed. 

Only two were left. 

And one was badly injured. 

The monster that stood on the ground next to the Cornucopia backed away as Jimin’s body tumbled to the ground, as if it knew that he wasn’t allowed to touch it anymore. Taeyong listened for a hovercraft, but it didn’t come. Instead, he watched as the monster that had lurched for Jimin turned its head to Jeno, its eyes gleaming a bright yellow.

Taeyong wanted to tell Jeno to run, to throw his knife at it despite the fact that it was probably designed to handle knives. He wanted for Jeno to run and run, but he would be followed, and he wouldn’t be able to outrun the monsters no matter how hard he tried. Taeyong had no idea what to do and it broke his heart. He felt useless as he watched the biggest of the monsters crawl down from the horn, its eyes never leaving Jeno. 

For the briefest of seconds, Taeyong closed his eyes. He could visualize the scene of Jeno getting torn to shreds, of the monsters’ teeth sinking into Jeno’s chest. He snapped his eyes back open, trying his hardest to shake off that feeling. Jeno kept his ground, stayed put, and Taeyong felt the smallest sliver of admiration. Jeno had never seemed too scared, too afraid, and it was a skill that even Taeyong had yet to learn. 

Suddenly, a loud yell echoed through the speakers. The camera panned to the boy from Two standing up straight, waving his hands and screaming, and Taeyong’s eyes widened. The monsters’ attention was pulled away from Jeno, drool dripping out of its mouth as if he was starving for a good dinner, and it looked to the boy from Two instead. 

The boy reached for the small backpack he had strapped to his back, retrieving the smallest of wooden stakes that he had probably crafted himself, and it was enough to spur the monsters into action. All three of them rushed toward him, eager to get his meat in their mouths, but as the boy raised the stake to his throat, Taeyong realized they would never reach him in time. 

The boy drove it straight through his neck, pushing its most pointed part into his body. He fell to his knees with one last loud scream before he fell face down, the stake pushed even further due to the ground, and the cannon went off. 

Jeno had won. 

“Will we be seeing the monsters more?” 

Taeyong barely registered Jongdae’s voice. He sat on the living room couch, Doyoung right next to him. It was the first time in two days that they got to sit down and breathe for a moment. After the announcement that Jeno had won had echoed through the Arena, everything had been a constant whirlwind. 

Taeyong was transported to where the Arena was, a globe far away into the hills surrounding the Capitol. The moment Jeno had laid eyes on him, he had rushed to Taeyong and wrapped his arms around him, a sob leaving his lips. 

It had been hard to not cry himself, but Taeyong had managed to stay strong. He didn’t want to cry in front of Jeno, and so he escorted him into the hovercraft. Another hovercraft would come by to pick up Jimin and the boy from Two’s bodies, but Taeyong tried his best to get Jeno’s thoughts away from that. Instead, he told Jeno about how well he had done, that he had been so incredibly smart. Taeyong knew the compliments fell on death ears, for Taeil had done the same to him, but he knew that deep down, Jeno clung onto his words like a lifeline much like he himself had done when Taeil had come to escort him out of the Arena.

With no cameras in the hovercraft, Taeyong allowed for Jeno to hold onto him for dear life. Jeno clung to him like Taeyong would disappear any second. His entire bravado, the personality he had put up of a brave, strong boy, crashed and crumbled like a porcelain tea cup falling to the pavement. Taeyong couldn’t do much aside from whispering good things in Jeno’s ear. That he was safe, that no one would hurt him again. That he had done it, and would return home to his family.

When they landed back in the Capitol, Jeno was rushed to the hospital for a check-up. Jeno hadn’t wanted to leave Taeyong, but after Taeyong promised him he would be there once he got back, Jeno allowed for the Peacekeepers and the nurses to take him away. 

Taeyong had paced the hospital walls for three hours as he waited. Doyoung showed up after ten minutes, his hair a mess and his button-up opened, and Taeyong had hugged him close and allowed for the tears to fall. 

Not for long, though. He managed to pick himself back up and clean his face before Jeno returned, ready to be escorted back to the training center. When they made it there, surrounded by cameras and journalists, Jeno looked ready to collapse. Doyoung was the one to gather the attention, just so Taeyong and Jeno could slip away without being interrupted. 

After that, the interviews and the Awarding Ceremony came. The President had given Jeno his crown, had presented him to the Capitol as ‘their’ victor, and announced that the sixty-fifth Hunger Games had been a success. Taeyong had wanted to throw his glass at the screen at that comment, but both Doyoung and Johnny had stopped him before he could. 

Of course the Games had been a success. With several pre-teens killing each other, monsters appearing in the Arena ready to tear the children to shreds, it was bound to be a success. It installed the fear that it needed to and gave the false hope that kept some of the districts going. For the next few weeks, more Peacekeepers would be assigned to the lower districts, the ones living in poverty, to keep the citizens in check. To make sure that they didn’t step a toe out of line, or else a public execution would probably do the trick. 

It was sickening, but sadly how it worked. 

Jeno had made an appearance on Jongdae’s programme, forced to wear a crown he had thrown onto the ground the second they were back in the apartment after the Awarding Ceremony. But he had taken it in stride. He smiled and waved, talked to the right people and said the correct things. The Capitol fell further in love with him and after two days, Jeno was deemed one of the favorite victors ever. 

It left a bitter taste in Taeyong’s mouth. Not because of jealousy, but because he knew what that meant. Jeno would never be able to forget his Hunger Games, would never be left to the peaceful life he was promised after winning the Games. It had been the same for Taeyong, back when he had been popular. Jeno would be forced to go to parties, attend conferences and several other events in the Capitol until the citizens found another victor to focus on, to walk around with and boast about. 

“Oh, we definitely will. They were a success, don’t you think?” 

Taeyong forced himself to look away from the screen as Dejun appeared, a smirk on his face. The same smirk he had worn when he talked about Jeno and his feat of having ran hard enough to outrun an artificial ball of fire. It sickened him to his stomach to see the satisfaction in both Jongdae and Dejun’s eyes, and so he forced himself not to watch. 

Jeno was vast asleep in his room. He had been given the same medication Taeyong had gotten to help him sleep after the Games. It allowed the user to sleep without dreams, without interruption of nightmares and the likes, but they only gave you enough for the first five days. With becoming addicted to it as a high risk, the Capitol doesn’t have a choice. When Taeyong learned that, the fact that most victors from lower districts had a drinking or drugs problem wasn’t that surprising anymore. 

Johnny had taken at least two years before he managed to sober himself. Taeyong knew that Taeil had had a bit of a problem too, right after winning his own Games, and he was able to list several more that Taeyong knew of. Naturally, some victors kept their addiction under wraps, so even that list was probably too short to be accurate. 

“You’re not relaxing.” 

Doyoung’s words came like thunder in the night, and Taeyong almost jumped from the couch. His heart beat erratically in his chest, feeling as if it was in his throat instead. Taeyong swallowed, closed his eyes and sighed. “I can’t.” 

Taeyong felt Doyoung shift beside him. He took hold of Taeyong’s hand, intertwining their fingers, and Taeyong felt a slight smile appear on his face. His shoulders remained tense, his face going back to look at the screen. “Are you alright?” 

Taeyong wanted to nod. He wanted to tell Doyoung that he was fine, that he wasn’t scared or horrified or terrified, all for Jeno, but he couldn’t. Doyoung could tell when someone was lying to him, and Taeyong was no exception to that rule. “No, no I’m not.” 

Doyoung leaned closer, placing a kiss against the bare skin of Taeyong’s neck. “Do you want to talk about it?” 

Taeyong had never really been good at talking about his Games, about things that had gone down after and what he still dealt with. As a child, he wouldn’t stop talking. He told stories, made up fairytales and told the other children in the schoolyard, and he never stopped talking his father’s ear off. It was still the case when it came to things Taeyong could distance himself from — certain parties, shows on the television and other superficial things like that — and only a handful of people had heard Taeyong talk about how his Games had been. 

Baekhyun, for he had been the one to nurse him through the days after. Taeil, for he had lived it himself. Johnny, for Taeyong felt like he could confide in him. In exchange, Johnny had told him his story. The night had ended with lots of tears and empty wine bottles, but it had made for a bond Taeyong would cherish for life. 

Kun sort of knew. Taeyong hadn’t told him everything, but Kun had watched his Games as a victor himself. He only had to guess for Taeyong to agree or disagree. Yuta knew little, knew whatever Taeyong felt like talking about, but Yuta never pushed. 

The feeling of wanting to tell Doyoung was strange. For a few moments, Taeyong tried to fight it. He kept his eyes on the screen, his ears picking up the sounds the apartment was making and Jongdae’s voice. He tried to push the feeling down, for he had no idea where Doyoung and him would go from here. Once Jeno and him got onto the train back to Seven, Taeyong had no idea what Doyoung and him would do. How they would communicate, get to know one another, perhaps fall in love. He felt the _want_ for it in his tummy, simmering like a fireplace that was getting to roar alive, and as he turned his head to look at Doyoung, sweet Doyoung, Taeyong lost all the will-power to hold back. 

He talked. He told Taeyong about how he never stopped thinking about the tributes who had fallen in order for him to win. How he still saw the girl fall in front of him, her cannon going off in the distance and signalizing the end of the Games. He didn’t stop, continued about the nightmares he had, about how worried he was for Jeno and his future. How, when he was on edge, he would jump at the softest sound that he couldn’t place.

How his home felt far too empty, and how he had filled up his garden with flowers for those who he had lost, those who had fallen under his responsibility and he had failed. Doyoung listened. He held Taeyong’s hand, wiped away the silent tears that fell, and listened. 

He offered contradictions to Taeyong’s belief that he had failed those who he was supposed to take care of, but he didn’t seem to mind that those contradictions didn’t stick. He squeezed Taeyong’s hand instead, offering comfort that Taeyong needed heavily. 

When Taeyong stopped, he had expected silence to fall. Shame had started to fill up his veins, the need to creep away and pretend he hadn’t just laid himself completely bare to his boyfriend growing with every silent second. 

And then, to Taeyong’s surprise, Doyoung opened his mouth. He spoke of his youth, how he had attended the Academy and how his parents had wanted for him to marry a girl with status, so that they could climb the ranks of the Capitol even higher. How, once Doyoung realized that he wanted to become a singer instead, they had given him money and pushed him out of their front door.

Doyoung told Taeyong that he had stayed with a friend for a while. That he did gigs in bars and cafes, offering his voice to whoever wanted to listen. And soon enough, the bookings started coming in more and more, and before Doyoung knew it he had climbed the social ladder further than his parents could have ever dreamed of. 

Taeyong asked whether they still talked, and Doyoung nodded. They came to some of his shows, the ones who’s tickets they could afford, for Doyoung had vowed to not give them a single penny of the money he earned. He had paid his friend back, bought his own place and sang for his fortune. 

Doyoung told Taeyong that from the very first time his parents allowed him to watch the Hunger Games, he grew disgusted by it. He told Taeyong how, when his classmates at school would gush about tributes or sneer about people from the districts, he would run off. How his father had given him a beating once, for not wanting to watch the Hunger Games. 

Taeyong sat in silence as he listened, offering the comfort of holding Doyoung’s hand. It warmed his heart that Doyoung had noticed, that he realized that Taeyong found it difficult to talk about his Games, and therefore told Taeyong about something he found difficult. It made the shame that Taeyong had felt crawl back inside, hide away for a later time. 

When Doyoung fell silent, too, he got up. Taeyong allowed for him to be led to the bedroom, and to be undressed. It was far softer than anything Taeyong had ever experienced. Doyoung’s touches were careful, as if Taeyong would break if pressed too hard, and it made goosebumps appear across his skin. When Taeyong was left sitting in his underwear, Doyoung helped him into his sleeping shirt. After, Taeyong helped Doyoung undress to his own underwear, and allowed for Doyoung to pull him under the covers. 

Taeyong had been worried that he wouldn’t be able to sleep. He had been worried that Jeno wouldn’t be able to, and therefore Taeyong wouldn’t be able to. But, Jeno seemed sound asleep in his room down the hall, and the apartment fell silent as the television in the living room turned itself off. Taeyong shuffled down a bit, leaning his head on Doyoung’s chest and nestling under his chin. Doyoung leaned back a bit, placing a soft kiss atop of Taeyong’s head before snapping his fingers, the lights around them dimming. 

Doyoung never turned them off entirely. Taeyong had never told him that the darkness scared him, but perhaps he had picked up on it. Doyoung had been in the apartment quite a few times before the Games even started, and Taeyong wouldn’t be surprised if he had checked Taeyong’s room more than once.

He didn’t mind, though. Instead, he closed his eyes and listened to Doyoung’s heartbeat. 

The day of departure came faster than Taeyong had expected it to. Jeno had had one day off after his last interview and he had spent it in his room. Taeyong had tried to get him out, but Doyoung was the one to succeed in the end. He took Jeno out to the roof where Taeyong knew a garden resided, and he didn’t see them again until around dinner time.

Jeno had looked more alive than he had done in the past few days and while Taeyong had no idea what Doyoung and him had talked about, he didn’t mind. Jeno smiled again, too, a genuine one, and Taeyong counted that as a win. 

Taeyong had always felt relieved leaving the Capitol behind. Now, though, he found himself stalling as he looked at his suitcase, closed and locked and ready for the trip back to district Seven. 

The trip wasn’t going to be long, for they were being flown out in a hovercraft. It reduced a two day long train ride to a four hour flight and while Taeyong also wanted to go home, he had wished for the train ride instead. The hovercraft reminded him too much of his own trip back from the Arena. 

He followed, though, when the Peacekeepers came to get them. Doyoung joined them, the car filled with silence as they drove to the airstrip. Taeyong had no idea what he was going to say to Doyoung. He feared that he wouldn’t get the right words out even if he tried, and he knew that letting go of Doyoung’s hand was going to be extremely hard to do. 

When they arrived, Jeno hugged Doyoung goodbye. Baekhyun was there too, brought in by a different car from his own home, and Jeno even hugged him. Baekhyun seemed surprised at that, too, pulling a dry laugh out of Taeyong before he too, hugged the older goodbye. Baekhyun told him to visit soon, and Taeyong found that he felt a lot lighter agreeing to that than he did the years prior. 

The Capitol used to mean pain, interacting with people who had watched him fight to the death and saw him as entertainment and nothing more. Now, though, it meant Doyoung, and Taeyong knew it was going to be difficult not seeing Doyoung every day. He had gotten used to Doyoung’s arms around him in bed, to seeing his face the first thing in the morning. To the smell of his cologne as he stood next to him, the sound of his voice as he spoke. Letters and phone calls would never be enough, but Taeyong was willing to try. 

He had said goodbye to Jongin, Johnny and Kun back at the tribute center. They had trains to catch with silent carriages and empty chairs, and none of them had looked particularly excited about it. Taeyong would see them again soon, if Johnny was concerned, for he had declared they needed to hang out more. The rest of them had agreed and while Taeyong knew it could take a while before such a thing took place, all of them struck with grief that they needed to process, he found himself excited to see them again. 

Jaemin, Jaehyun, Jungwoo, Minjeong, Chenle and Wendy had been there, too. They held onto handkerchiefs and congratulated Jeno once more before they left, and while Taeyong knew these people well and that they were over dramatic at times, he knew that they were genuine, too. Perhaps he should write them sometime, too. 

Once Taeyong reached Doyoung, Jeno was already in the hovercraft. Taeyong couldn’t blame him — he was excited to see his family again — and so he didn’t want to stall. Doyoung pulled him into an embrace and Taeyong felt the tears start to fall as Doyoung’s arms wrapped around his waists. They had protected him from nightmares, had stood guard and taken the first watch, and now Taeyong had to let them go for god knows how long. 

It felt horrible.

“I’ll miss you.” Taeyong whispered.

Doyoung pulled away slightly, placing a kiss against Taeyong’s lips. “I’ll come visit as soon as I can, okay?” 

Taeyong nodded, closing his eyes. He felt Doyoung lean his forehead against his and for a moment everything around them disappeared into thin air. It was just them, standing in the forest of Seven. Taeyong could imagine it. Doyoung with an axe, getting them firewood for the winter. Taeyong would bake them fresh bread and invite Taeil and Yuta over to have some with them. Long nights by the fireplace, intertwined with one another as they watched the rain fall. “Okay.” 

And that was that. Taeyong walked into the hovercraft and he turned back once more, waving at Baekhyun and Doyoung as he did so, before the door closed itself and he was ushered into a seat by a nameless Avox. 

“Are you alright?” Jeno asked. Taeyong nodded, fastening his seatbelt. He felt the need to laugh bubble in his chest, for Jeno shouldn’t have to worry about him. Taeyong felt the guilt tug at his throat, and he cleared his throat. 

“Yeah, I’m fine. Are you?” 

Jeno seemed to tense at that. Taeyong watched him close his eyes, one of his fingers tapping against his leg as if to calm himself down, and he swallowed. They all had their own coping mechanisms — Taeyong had flowers, Kun had his art and Johnny and Jongin had their own things like dancing and fishing — and at first, none of them were healthy. Taeyong used to spend hours on end in his garden, even when the frostbite nipped at his fingers and hunger pained him. Kun used to paint until he fainted and Jongin had injured himself far too many times to be healthy. 

Taeyong hoped he could offer Jeno some help. He didn’t want Jeno to start hurting himself, to suffer, and he figured he should start with this. He calmly placed a hand on Jeno’s knee, softly so that Jeno could push him off if he desired to, but Jeno stayed put. “Nervous, which is strange, isn’t it? Shouldn’t I be excited?”

Taeyong shook his head. He had felt the same when he returned home himself. When he stepped foot out of the train and everyone was there to cheer for him, the only thing he had felt was anxiety and guilt. He had to look Siyeon’s parents in the eye while the mayor spoke adoring words about him and his performances, and after Taeyong had spent a good few hours holed up in his new room, tearing at his hair and crying. 

“That’s not strange, Jeno. I felt the same when I returned home. I was terrified, guilt-ridden and worried that people would see me as a murderer. Being nervous isn’t strange at all.” Taeyong answered, honestly. Lying wasn’t an option anymore now that Jeno needed him more than anything, and it was something Taeyong had promised himself from the very first time he mentored two tributes. 

After he had watched Yixing throw himself to his death, his body blown to bits and smithereens, Taeyong had promised himself that if he ever managed to mentor a tribute to victory, he would help them. He would guide them through the grief, the pain and the guilt that came with winning, for that was one thing the Capitol didn’t offer. Nobody realized how traumatic the experience was until they had experienced it themselves, and every year only one of them lived to tell the tale while twenty-three could never speak again. 

Jeno nodded. “I don’t know what I’m going to do.” 

Taeyong understood that, too. The helplessness, the feeling of hollowness. In the Arena, everything was about adrenaline, survival. With the price that the Capitol provided, survival was no longer a necessity, which left room for other things. And it was scary to lose that purpose, to lose the fight in you, especially after it had grown so important to your life in such a short time. 

Taeyong sighed. “You’re going to get off this hovercraft. You’re going to hug your parents, and you’re going to move into the Victors Village. We’re going to have dinner together with Taeil and your parents, and we’re going to celebrate the fact that you’re alive. Then, you’re going to sleep. And tomorrow morning is another day.” 

Jeno hummed. He seemed to relax a little more, his body slouching, and Taeyong let out a breath. “Do you do that?” 

Taeyong raised an eyebrow. The rest of the hovercraft was empty, just the two of them sitting in their own little world. The pilots couldn’t hear them, either, and the hovercraft was quiet. Taeyong missed the music the Capitol always provided. “Do what?”

“Make lists like that in your head? To get through the day?” 

Taeyong chuckled, shaking his head. “I used to — in the beginning. I only do it on bad days now, when things start to become overwhelming for me. Like on Reaping day.” 

Jeno flashed him a small smile, “What was your plan?” 

Taeyong bit his lip, closing his eyes. He remembered waking up with a stomach ache so severe he felt like he couldn’t move. Fortunately, when Taeil came to eat breakfast with him, it passed. It had been nerves, of course, but unpleasant nonetheless. He remembered getting dressed, looking out of his bedroom window to see the rest of the district wake up, and he sighed. “I made a plan to wake up. To eat breakfast with Taeil, to go see Yuta before it all started. The next step was to get through the Reaping, introduce myself to my tributes and try to comfort them as best as I could. After that it was to try and fall asleep.” 

“ _Your_ tributes?” Jeno asked, and Taeyong nodded.

“You guys became my responsibility the second your names were called.” 

Jeno fell silent for a moment, and Taeyong let him. His mind drifted to Doyoung, and he wondered what he was doing now. Perhaps already going through his bookings for the week, for the Capitol was always a paradise of never ending parties after the Hunger Games ended. According to Doyoung that had been the only reason why he hadn’t gotten onto the hovercraft with them, and Taeyong couldn’t begin to imagine what Doyoung thought every night he spent on stage. Before his thoughts could try and convince him that Doyoung wouldn’t even miss him, Jeno opened his mouth again. 

“I can’t imagine what that must feel like.” Jeno sounded much more mature than he had on the very first day they had spoken, and it broke Taeyong’s heart. Jeno wasn’t supposed to be burdened with the nightmares he would face. He was supposed to be in school, learning new things and preparing for a life in the forests or in the factories that worked on the wood. Instead, he looked like a boy that had grown into a man far too quickly. 

Taeyong sighed. “It doesn’t get easier, but you learn to live with it.” 

“That’s going to be me next year, isn’t it?” Jeno asked, and Taeyong wished he could say no. But, rules were rules, and a rule the Hunger Games abided by was that the most recent victor should replace the old mentor. While Taeyong had the right to help Jeno, he would never be seen as the official mentor for district Seven again. 

Taeyong always thought he would be more relieved with that knowledge, but all he felt right now was dread. “It is. But, I’m going to be with you as many times as you need me.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean that I’m allowed to help. You’ll be the official mentor, but you won’t have to do it all alone. I can be there.” Jeno seemed to relax even more with that knowledge, and Taeyong smiled. “Now, I think you should get some more sleep before we land. It’s going to be a bit of a whirlwind before you can sleep again.”

Jeno nodded and Taeyong watched as he made himself comfortable in his chair. Taeyong tried to do the same, but he was left to stare at the blue lighting within the hovercraft cabin. He couldn’t wait to see his flowers again, blooming in the summer heat, and he felt himself craving the repetitiveness of what it meant to take care of them. 

He wondered what Doyoung would think of his garden. Doyoung liked pretty things, or so he had said, and Taeyong thought his flowers were pretty. He wished to show Doyoung everything, from his current home to the one he grew up in, but he knew he would have to wait a little while longer.

Taeyong’s flowers were in full bloom as he walked into his garden. He felt a small smile creep onto his face as he looked at the patch of earth where he had planted a few seeds of beautiful white tulips, where those flowers would bloom just the same. Taeyong had asked Yerim’s parents for a picture of her and while the flowers still had a long time to go before they lived, her picture stood with his others all the same.

Being back in the district always felt odd after the Hunger Games. Taeyong’s body got used to a schedule, waking up early and going to sleep late, with three meals a day regulated for him so he didn’t have to think, and that schedule fell away as soon as he stepped foot inside of his home. 

Taking care of himself had always been hard, even as a child. He always played too long, spent too long reading the worn-down books in the small school library, and forgot to eat. He not only forgot to eat, but also to sleep, and the only good thing about being in the Capitol was the fact that Taeyong didn’t have to think about taking care of himself. 

They had only gotten back to Seven four days ago, and Taeyong was certain he had already missed three meals altogether. He spent the day they got back assisting Jeno and his family move into the house across from him in the Victors Village. Jeno’s mom couldn’t stop crying as they moved, touching Jeno as much as she could, and Taeyong had been surrounded by nothing but love for an entire day.

The day after he spent his morning and afternoon consoling Yerim’s parents and her little sister. Her red-rimmed eyes spoke louder than any words ever could, and Taeyong tried his best to reassure them that they were going to be fine. It was a hollow promise, one Taeyong knew he couldn’t be certain of, but he hoped that they had found comfort in his words despite that. 

The third day had been a day of gardening, planting the white tulip seeds and pulling weeds. Taeyong had lost himself to it to the point where he had nearly missed Doyoung’s phone call. But, he heard it after the first three rings and he had rushed to the phone with his hands still covered in dirt.

Doyoung’s schedule was booked full to the brim for the next week and a half, and while Taeyong missed him greatly, he was also proud of him. Doyoung was doing what he loved and while it wasn’t where he loved it, he made it work. Taeyong still couldn’t wait for the day Doyoung finally came to Seven, but the phone calls gave him hope.

Taeyong’s eyes scanned his surroundings as he walked. The sun was starting to go down behind the trees of the Forest, leaving his path in an orange glow that he followed to the town-square. Eyes followed him as he walked, whispers sounding behind his back, and he tried his best to smile at the people who made eye contact with him. He still hadn’t gotten used to the looks and stares, even after all these years, and Taeyong feared he would never truly get used to it. 

He went from being a nobody, another child doomed to hope to survive the Reaping, to a Victor he didn’t want to be. He knew that some of the poorer families in the district envied him, for he had more than enough food, and that was why he donated as much as he could. His donations were all anonymous, of course, but it prevented children from having to put their names into the bowl more times than they already had. 

Taeyong’s father had never allowed him to sign up for rations. With every year he aged, his name was added into the bowl only once more. By the time he reached seventeen, his name was in the bowl six times. Taeyong had classmates whose names were in the bowl forty times, some even fifty, and he had known that Yuta had been in there more times than what Taeyong had wanted for him. 

Taeyong had never signed up for rations, but there had been times where he had been tempted to. When the nights grew too cold and he could hear his fathers’ stomach growling in the silence of it, he thought of going to the Peacekeepers first thing in the morning. But, his father always changed his mind. Thinking back on it, Taeyong wondered if it had mattered. If he had put his name in there more times, he still would have gotten pulled at the age of seventeen. But, he didn’t allow himself to wallow in those thoughts very long. Instead, he thought of how his father was always so proud whenever he had managed enough for a loaf of bread, or a piece of meat. 

And now, Taeyong had more than enough to eat. He provided food for the poorest families in the districts, for he didn’t want anyone else to suffer the way he had. He knew that it would never be enough, but it was a start. He shared his winnings with many people, for Taeyong had always been alone. Just him, especially after his father passed.

Now, he had Doyoung. Someone who could provide for himself and Taeyong easily with the blink of an eye. A Capitol boy, born into wealth and growing his own fortune with his voice. Taeyong wondered whether the people in the district would accept him or if they would spit at his feet. 

The thought made his stomach fill with dread, and he swallowed it down. He continued walking past the town-square, down the path that followed the small river that flowed throughout the town. Soon enough, he found the house he had visited so many times as a child. Yuta sat in the front, perched on a wooden chair that looked like it would fall apart if one put too much weight on it. He held onto a glass of what Taeyong assumed to be water, and his eyes were focused on the other man in front of him. 

Taeyong recognized the man as Sicheng, a boy Yuta had grown close to over the past few years. He wasn’t entirely sure what exactly went on with them, and so he didn’t pry. Instead, he moved forward silently as not to startle them, and waited for either of them to spot him before making himself known. 

“Taeyong!” Came Yuta’s booming voice in the quiet as the evening fell in the town, and Taeyong smiled. He had missed Yuta greatly despite the fact that he hadn’t thought about him much during the Games, and he felt guilt already pulling at his throat as Yuta moved in for a hug.

Taeyong hugged him back, inhaling the woody scent Yuta had grown to wear. A recent development from Yuta’s transfer from the forest to the factories where they cut the wood, and Taeyong found himself liking the smell. When Yuta allowed him to pull away, Taeyong waved at Sicheng. “Hi.”

Sicheng merely smiled at him, too, waving back. “Hi. You must be exhausted.” 

Taeyong chuckled. In the dozens of times he had met Sicheng, he had realized that Sicheng was blunt. He was honest, brutally so, and Taeyong appreciated it. Some people tended to walk on egg-shells around him, especially after the Games, and he liked that Sicheng didn’t seem to care about it that much. “I am, yeah. Just wanted to say hello and deliver this.” 

Taeyong held the bag he had carried all the way from home up, handing it to Yuta who held out his hands with a raised eyebrow. “I told you to stop doing that.”

Yuta had never done well with accepting gifts from Taeyong, but Taeyong never quit. He always made sure Yuta had enough food, enough clothes and blankets and if his house needed maintenance, he paid for it. Yuta had helped his father a lot in the past, and Taeyong was still immensely grateful for that. “Can’t help it.”

The bag held two bottles of the wine Taeyong knew Yuta highly enjoyed, two loaves of bread and several other small things the other could eat. Yuta made decent money with his job at the factory, but not enough to uphold himself for an entire month. Taeyong just wanted to make sure he made it to the end of the month without struggling — Yuta would never allow him to do more than that. 

Sicheng seemed to disagree with Yuta, even if his face tried to hide it. Yuta handed him the bag without another word, and Taeyong flashed a small smile. Perhaps things had gotten more serious between them while he had been away, but he didn’t ask. Instead, he followed Yuta inside when the other asked if he wanted a glass of wine, and Sicheng did the same. 

“So you and Doyoung Kim, huh?” 

Yuta’s words made Taeyong almost spit out his drink. “What?” 

Yuta scoffed, swirling his wine around in his mug. “Please, you can’t fool me. It was all over the Capitol News.” 

Taeyong wanted to roll his eyes. Instead, he just hummed. The sun had gone down behind the trees and mountains about an hour ago and Taeyong knew that he should head home soon. Doyoung would probably be waiting for a call, so that the two of them could talk about their day, and he didn’t want to make the already busy singer wait too long. “Yeah. We — we hit it off.” 

“Hit it off? Pretty sure you guys are in love without knowing it yet.” Came Sicheng’s comment with a subtle hand wave, as if he was joking, but Taeyong felt his throat run dry. He cleared his throat, trying to get rid of the feeling, and Yuta laughed from behind his mug. 

“I’m happy for you, though. All the shit aside.” 

Taeyong smiled back at him, the sudden display of raw emotion making his head spin in the best way possible. “Thank you. He’s— He’s—”

“Capitol?”

“Sicheng!” 

Taeyong shook his head, holding his hand out to Yuta. “It’s alright. He is Capitol, but he hates the Games as much as we do.” 

Sicheng raised an eyebrow. “And that’s why he participates in them?”

Taeyong knew that he should have seen this coming. Not everyone would be appreciative of the fact that a Capitol man would come to their district, and Taeyong could understand why. Everyone he walked past every single day had a reason to hate the Capitol, whether this was poverty, hunger or the knowledge that they could lose their child every single year, again and again, and Taeyong knew that he could never change those opinions. 

He hoped, though, to show that some people in the Capitol disagreed with the President, too. “He does, but he sponsors to make things easier on the tributes.” 

Sicheng seemed to think about that. He took a sip of his own mug of wine, swirling the liquid around in his mouth, before he seemed to come to a conclusion. “Was he the one to give Jeno all his medicine?” 

Taeyong nodded, his chest beaming with pride. “He was. He also sent other tributes some gifts.” 

Sicheng hummed, “I guess he sounds alright.” 

Taeyong wasn’t entirely sure why Sicheng’s opinion mattered to him, but his chest fluttered with the knowledge anyway. He then bid his goodbyes, promising to come over again and introduce them to Doyoung when he finally made his way over, and he made his way back to the Victors Village with a spring in his step. 

He greeted Jeno’s father, who stood in their front yard, with a small wave and got one in return, and when Taeyong finally got into bed an hour later, Doyoung’s voice still echoing in his head from their phone call, he felt the oddness of being back in Seven dissipate from his body. 

Two weeks passed faster than Taeyong had expected them to. The Capitol officials in charge of running the Tour came over a week and a half after Jeno and Taeyong had returned home, and it was the first time in that exact time that Taeyong had a camera shoved in his face. 

Apparently, the Gamemakers had deemed it necessary to film even that, and so Jeno was shown in front of the camera again. Taeyong hated it, for they had pasted Jeno’s face full of make-up to hide the bags under his eyes, but he couldn’t stop it. 

They had been nice enough, only notifying Jeno of his duties during the Tour and what was expected of him, and when and where it started. They were starting in Twelve and would end in the Capitol, where the party of the year would be held in Jeno’s name by the President. Taeyong could tell that Jeno wasn’t looking forward to it at all, and he understood. 

He also knew, though, that there was no way he would get Jeno out of it. It was required, one more thing expected of a Victor after having the most traumatic experience of their lives, and it was another cruel way to show that a Victor belonged to the Capitol, and not the districts.

A tradition, much like the Games itself, that needed changing, but Taeyong had no way of doing so. Instead, after the officials had taken their leave and Taeyong had called Baekhyun to inform of the things he probably already knew, he made Jeno a cup of tea and they spent a few hours talking. 

Taeyong had told him of his own Tour, how he managed to get through it. How, when he stood on stage and was forced to look at the families of the tributes who had fallen in order for him to win, he would shut off his mind and take his thoughts to a happy place. For him, it was his childhood home, and Taeyong figured that for Jeno it might have something to do with the forest. 

Taeyong told Jeno that he met Doyoung there, for the very first time. He joked that perhaps Jeno would find someone, too, and Jeno had shoved him away with a soft chuckle at that. It was the first time Taeyong had heard him laugh ever since their first day back in Seven, and it had been worth the shove against the shoulder. 

Four days had passed since then, and Taeyong stood on the platform, waiting for the train to arrive with a giddy feeling in his chest. The platform was empty, for no one else expected visitors, but Taeyong didn’t mind. He relished in the quiet of it, even, and closed his eyes as the summer breeze blew past.

Summer was slowly turning into autumn, the nights growing colder and the mornings growing dewier, and Taeyong found he quite liked it. 

When he was young, winters meant cold nights spent curled up with his father as they tried to keep warm. Winters meant less food, for the crops in the district didn’t grow and the food ran out fast, and it meant getting wood for their fireplace despite the fear of the house burning down.

Now, Taeyong was able to enjoy the winter. He had more than enough blankets to keep him warm at night, heat in his house that kept him cozy, and food that would never run out no matter how much he ate. He had grown to like winters, despite the guilt that he always carried with him as he walked around in a padded coat while the rest of the district suffered through the cold.

Perhaps, Taeyong noted to himself as he eyed the direction the train would come from, he should take up knitting. He already donated blankets when the nights started getting colder, but with knitting he could help with hats and gloves, too. He was sure that if he asked, Baekhyun’s mother would teach him gladly. She was a nice woman, still battered from her time in the war, and she knit a lot. 

Taeyong hummed to himself. He could call Baekhyun to ask the day after. First, though, he needed for Doyoung to come so he could hold him again. He had missed Doyoung’s touch, his voice a nice place-holder but never enough, and he couldn’t wait for Doyoung to kiss him again, to wrap his arms around him and make him feel safe as he kept watch at night. 

Around five more minutes passed as Taeyong waited, the bird around him singing and the leaves fluttering in the wind. It was nice and calm, but Taeyong didn’t mind the interruption that the train provided, the speed it came with providing sound in the quiet that surrounded him. Taeyong had never liked the trains, far too ugly and sleek, but as the door slid open and Doyoung came into view, he found he liked one thing about them.

The speed. Doyoung had left two nights ago, and was already standing right in front of him with the biggest smile on his face. Taeyong rushed forward as Doyoung stepped out of the train, holding on to a suitcase that would probably fill Taeyong’s entire closet if he allowed it to, and opened his arms. 

Taeyong walked into them and sighed, his head finding the crook of Doyoung’s neck almost immediately. The feeling of Doyoung’s arms around him sparked warmth in his stomach, sent butterflies fluttering and his head reeling, and Taeyong inhaled. He felt Doyoung inhale, too, his arms tightening just the slightest bit as if he was scared Taeyong would disappear again. “I’m so glad you’re here.” 

Doyoung chuckled. “I’m glad I’m here too, baby.” 

Taeyong took his hand and led him down the stone stairs, onto the paths that led toward the town, and listened as Doyoung talked. They fell into conversation as they walked, passing people as they did so, and Taeyong noticed the glances they were giving Doyoung. He swallowed his uneasiness down and focused on his boyfriend instead, clutching his hand in his.

Doyoung didn’t seem to notice, though, for his eyes were focused on other things. His eyes looked around the town as they passed houses, buildings and ruins of what used to be houses that were liveable. Taeyong led him to the Victors Village, which stood out like a sore-thumb, and he could see Doyoung’s frown deepen. “It’s quite the difference, isn’t it?” 

Doyoung hummed. He stopped walking, turning his head to look at the houses that made up the Village and the gate that led to the rest of the town, and Taeyong could see the gears in his head turning. “Is it like this in every district?” 

Taeyong sighed. “Sadly, yes. When I had my Tour, they showed me the Victors Village in every district.” 

Doyoung squeezed his hand. It sent warmth through Taeyong’s body, his heart beating faster in his chest, and he smiled at Doyoung as much as he could. “That must have been terrible.” 

Taeyong took Doyoung inside and answered any questions the other had as he took Doyoung inside of his own home. It was odd to have someone else in his home that wasn’t Yuta, Jeno or Taeil, but he liked it. Doyoung was different from any of those people, and he had missed him greatly. 

Within days, Taeyong found that Doyoung had created a rhythm for him. One that he had lacked all those days by himself. Doyoung pulled him out of bed in the morning, made sure Taeyong ate his breakfast and asked for tours through the district, to see the places Taeyong had lived and been, and Taeyong was more than willing to show him everything. 

Doyoung kept him on track. Taeyong knew that it wasn’t entirely intentional, per se, but he appreciated it nonetheless. It made for a good distraction and while his body needed to get used to the meals at the right time, Taeyong found himself enjoying the rhythm created for him. 

They went on walks, spent time together at the house and Doyoung even watched him garden for a couple hours while he himself read. They had dinner with Taeil one night, Yuta and Sicheng the other, and Doyoung seemed to fit in just fine without even trying. Yuta and Sicheng were charmed, the both of them, and Taeil had already known who Doyoung was to begin with. 

Doyoung provided the music Taeyong had missed so much. His voice echoed through the house when the rest of it was quiet and when the walls threatened to close in on him, Taeyong had Doyoung’s voice to focus on. It provided comfort, made the house feel less empty, and Taeyong wished it could last forever. It felt nice to have someone to come home to if he got called to a meeting with the mayor, or when Jeno needed him for something. Jeno seemed happy to see Doyoung again, too, the two of them even playing football in the Victor’s Village courtyard one afternoon. 

Time passed like that, with Doyoung next to him in his own territory, on his turf, and it was wonderful. The Capitol had been Doyoung’s turf, where he felt the most comfortable, and Seven was Taeyong’s place, his comfort, and while Taeyong had always struggled to fit into the Capitol, Doyoung seemed to fit in in Seven just fine. 

Of course, people stared. Some elders spat, growled or yelled at Doyoung when they walked through town. While Taeyong wanted to defend Doyoung, the other didn’t seem to mind. Instead, he offered a kind smile and a gift, one that he could spare easily. He had given several of the people who had yelled at him blankets, ones he had brought from home or bought in the district itself, and Ira, the woman who knitted all of them, had made more money in one week than she had in the entire year. 

It caused some of the district elders to warm up to him. The mayor seemed to be honored to have someone from the Capitol staying with him, inviting Doyoung and Taeyong over for dinner one night. Doyoung had kindly refused, though, telling him that he would rather spend time with just Taeyong. That hadn’t been the same reason he had told Taeyong— “ _It’s like he’s proud to have someone from the Capitol here. Like it will help his status among the others, or something. I won’t help him with that._ ” — but the mayor seemed understanding enough. 

Taeyong wondered whether the mayor would talk to him about it after Doyoung left, but he pushed that thought away for now. They were in bed, the only light source in the room the chandelier hanging from the ceiling that Taeyong had grown to like, and the moon coming in from the opened windows. 

The summer heat was fading as the days passed, but it was still warm no matter what Taeyong tried to get his house to cool down. With the window open and the breeze coming in, pushing up against Doyoung to cuddle was more bearable. Far in the distance the noises of the factories could be heard, intertwining with the calls of the birds into the night. It was the same sound Taeyong had fallen asleep to as a child, curled up in his own bed and under his threadbare blanket. 

Things had certainly changed since then. 

“Penny for your thoughts?” 

Taeyong hummed, raising his head from Doyoung’s chest. They were both stripped down to their underwear to keep cool as much as possible, and the feel of skin on skin contact sent Taeyong’s mind reeling. His heart was rapidly beating in his chest, nearly threatening to burst out from his ribcage. He wanted to say something, to ask Doyoung why the other hadn’t touched him yet, but he didn’t. Instead, he placed a soft kiss against the skin of Doyoung’s chest. “Just thinking.”

“About what?” He asked, his hand stopping its movements on Taeyong’s waist. He mourned the loss of the comforting touch only for a second as Doyoung continued moving again within a few seconds, and Taeyong sighed. 

“About how things have changed.” Just the night before, Taeyong had woken Doyoung up. He had been screaming at the top of his lungs, scared out of his wits that the girl from two from Jeno’s Games was going to kill Doyoung and then him. Doyoung had been able to calm him down with soft touches and reassuring words, a nice mug of tea and a conversation that lasted up to an hour before Taeyong felt like he could sleep again. Things had changed, for the better and the worst. 

Doyoung moved his head back a little, the back of his head digging into the pillows. “Is that all?” 

Taeyong scoffed, “No, but it’s one in the morning.” 

Doyoung shifted, making Taeyong move his head away from Doyoung’s chest. Doyoung sat up, the blanket falling off of his torso, and Taeyong felt something stir from within. Doyoung was fit, his muscles slightly toned and the slight formation of abs visible, and Taeyong thought he was perfect. Taeyong himself had never really grown out of the scrawny young boy he used to be when he was seventeen, hungry and scared, but he had gained a bit of muscle over the years with the help of finally having enough food. Yet, he didn’t feel shy around Doyoung at all. He shed the blanket, too, allowing it to fall around his waist. 

Doyoung had seen his chest many times before, but his gaze felt like he was seeing it for the first time all over again. It felt hot against his skin, set goosebumps to rise across his arms and legs, and Taeyong wanted Doyoung to take him. “So? We’ve slept later. Tell me.” 

Taeyong rolled his eyes, feeling his resistance crumble with every glance Doyoung sent his way. “Fine. But you’re not allowed to laugh.” 

Doyoung chuckled, making Taeyong raise an eyebrow at him. Doyoung raised one hand in defense, shaking his head. “Fine. I won’t laugh. I will never laugh at you, baby.” 

Taeyong could feel the sincerity of that statement in his bones, vibrating through him like a mantra, and for a second he forgot that he was about to ask Doyoung about sex. His words sounded like wedding vows, the one Taeyong had read about, and that thought sent his head reeling to places he didn’t want to be in just yet. “Promise?”

Doyoung nodded, “Promise.” 

Taeyong huffed, closing his eyes. “Why haven’t we fucked?” 

He knew his words were, for the lack of a better word, brute and direct, but he feared that if he didn’t speak them out loud now, he would never say them. And if that meant using words Taeyong would have probably been scolded for by his Father, so be it. 

Doyoung’s eyebrows shot up, nearly touching his hairline, and Taeyong could see that he was desperately trying to hold in his laughter. Taeyong shoved him with his right hand, making Doyoung throw his head back. “Seriously?”

“Yeah! Am I not desirable?” Taeyong then asked, the words leaving him before he could stop them. The atmosphere around him changed within an instant, Doyoung’s eyes back on him and as serious as he had seen them while watching Jeno step off of his pedestal. “Forget I sai—”

“You are,” Doyoung started, swallowing. Taeyong watched him close his eyes as if he was trying to find the right words to say, and Taeyong felt the guilt grip at his throat once more. “You are the most desirable person I’ve ever seen. I thought you were cute the first time I saw you, but then you appeared on television as a mentor a year later, and you looked. God, Taeyong, you looked absolutely delectable.” 

Taeyong’s jaw dropped, “Wh—”

“When you accepted my, quite honestly, random request to have coffee with me, I was ecstatic. I wasn’t expecting any of this, really, but you reeled me in like a professional fisher into your net. I was caught, and ready to do everything for you. I still am. So yes, you are desirable to me.” Doyoung’s facial expression didn’t change, and it only made Taeyong want to laugh. 

“A professional fisher?” A laugh escaped his lips, and Doyoung followed soon enough. The words settled themselves within Taeyong, carving themselves into his skin like the tattoos he had seen on other people, Capitol or district. For a second he wished they were actual tattoos, for that meant he could look at them whenever he wanted and read them when he needed them the most, but for now he hoped Doyoung would be able to say them again and again, instead. 

Doyoung laughed with him for a few moments until his face turned serious again. “Did you think you weren’t?” 

Taeyong swallowed, the laughter dying in his chest like someone had stomped on a fire. “I— yeah. For a bit, yeah. You just— you’ve never initiated it.” 

Doyoung raised an eyebrow, moving to sit up a bit straighter. Taeyong allowed for him to grab his hand, intertwining their fingers as he did so. Taeyong looked him in the eye, not wanting to break the contact for a second, and Doyoung seemed to have the same idea. “You were going through, what I can only assume, is one of the worst things in your life apart from your own Games. It didn’t feel right.” 

Taeyong wanted to punch himself. Hard. He had been miserable, exhausted and ready to cry at any moment, and Doyoung had seen that. And had expected nothing of him, despite the newness of their relationship. Taeyong wanted to cry. “Really?” 

Doyoung huffed, but Taeyong knew he wasn’t really offended. “Of course. All I wanted was to make things easier for you in that moment.” 

Taeyong turned his head to the side, breaking their eye-contact. He looked outside, the sky a pitch black and littered with stars he hadn’t been able to see in the Capitol due to the lighting of the city, and yet the most breath-taking sight he had ever seen was sitting on his bed with him, instead. “You did— you made it so much easier. For the first time ever I felt like I could handle it.” 

“You had your friends, too.” Doyoung commented, making Taeyong turn his head. 

“We’ve never spent as much time together during the Games than we have this year. You pulled us together, I think. Jongin and I barely spoke outside of the Hunger Games, and yet I’ve had three conversations with him in the past two weeks. Johnny and Kun seem eager to hang out again. You made it so much easier.” Taeyong’s words turned into whispers as he continued talking, his throat running dry. “Thank you, for doing that.” 

Doyoung moved closer, pulling Taeyong against his chest. Taeyong went willingly, resting his head on Doyoung’s shoulder. “No need to thank me, my love. I hate seeing you so miserable.” 

Taeyong thought of the way things would change now that he wasn’t a mentor anymore. He would join Jeno on Tour, help him as much as he could, and then he would help him during his first Hunger Games as a mentor. And then, he wouldn’t have to be there anymore. He wouldn’t have to live through the Hunger Games again and again, the responsibility of two teenagers weighing like tons on his shoulders. He was tied to the Games forever, of course, but Jeno would take his place. 

And while Taeyong worried and would help the younger as much as he could, he couldn’t help but feel relieved, too. “This was my last year.” 

Doyoung hummed, “You’ve done amazing, the past few years.” 

Taeyong wanted to scoff, for he had gotten eleven tributes killed in his time as mentor, but he didn’t. Instead, he found Doyoung’s lips and pressed his against them in a kiss. It started out soft, like they were both holding back, but soon enough Taeyong felt like electricity coursed through his body with every touch, Doyoung turning them both around so that Taeyong was the one laying on the bed. 

“Do you want me— _fuck —_ do you want me to show you how desireable you are to me?” Doyoung asked, his mouth travelling down from Taeyong’s lips to his neck, biting down. Taeyong gasped, arching his back into the pleasure that zipped through him, and he nodded. 

“Please.” He begged, his toes already curling from the sudden combination of pain and pleasure as Doyoung tongued at the spot he had bitten. It would bruise, but Taeyong didn’t mind. 

Doyoung moved like he was meant for this, and for a startling second Taeyong realized that Doyoung was probably far more experienced than he was. He pushed those thoughts away, though, and zeroed in on the feeling of Doyoung’s hand palming at his crotch. Taeyong moaned, pleasure pooling in his gut. “Do—”

“Do you have lube?” Doyoung interrupted him, his voice muffled from where it was still kissing and biting at whichever patch of skin he could reach. Taeyong felt like he was in heaven. 

“Yeah, yeah. Bedside drawer.” Taeyong pointed at his bedside table, hoping Doyoung would get it. He felt himself blush as Doyoung moved away from him to grab it, the cold air making him shiver as it hit his sudden sensitive skin. 

He listened to Doyoung move around for a moment before he felt two hands on his underwear. Without a word, Taeyong raised his hips so that Doyoung could pull them down. He watched Doyoung throw them on the floor somewhere, but he paid it no further mind as he felt Doyoung’s touch creep further up his thighs, making his legs tremble. “Do—”

“I’ve got you baby, I’ve got you.” Doyoung seemed to sense that Taeyong was much less experienced than he was, but he was patient. When he slipped the first finger in, Taeyong felt the burn so harshly he teared up in an instant. Doyoung cooed at him, kissing away the tears that had slipped down his cheeks, before Taeyong relaxed a little and allowed for him to move. 

With each passing second Taeyong felt closer and closer to Doyoung, the pleasure pooling in his gut only growing and growing with every movement. The burning had long gone by the time Doyoung entered a third finger, the curl of his finger determined as if he was looking for something. Taeyong felt stars block his vision, his toes curling and his back arching off of the bed when Doyoung found it, a loud moan leaving his lips. “Fuck!” 

“There it is.” Doyoung simply stated, taking Taeyong’s breath away with both a kiss and another prod at his prostate. Doyoung swallowed Taeyong’s further noises as he lubed himself up with one hand, Taeyong’s hole feeling far too empty. He clenched around nothing, a whine leaving his lips just as Doyoung pulled away from him, and the smirk Doyoung gave him was enough to make Taeyong’s dick stir where it was laying against his chest, hard and begging for release. 

“You okay?” Doyoung then asked, carding his clean hand through Taeyong’s hair. Taeyong nodded, leaning his head up for a kiss greedily. Doyoung’s smirk turned into a soft smile as he gave in, his tongue finding Taeyong’s easily. 

“More than okay.” Taeyong whispered once Doyoung pulled away again. He shuddered when Doyoung lined up with his hole. He clenched and Doyoung groaned from above him, making Taeyong let out a laugh. 

“Menace. You’re a menace.” Doyoung whispered, leaning in to capture Taeyong’s lips once more before thrusting his hips forward. Taeyong groaned into the kiss, his noises swallowed by Doyoung once more, and he tried his hardest to relax as Doyoung moved forward, inch by inch. When Doyoung finally bottomed out, Taeyong threw his head back against the pillows, a small string of spit connecting Doyoung and his own lips. 

“I’m your menace,” He replied, clenching around Doyoung. Doyoung was the one to moan this time, and Taeyong revelled in the knowledge that he was the one who had done that. 

“Yes, yes you are,” Doyoung said before pulling back and thrusting in again. Taeyong clenched his eyes shut as sparks shot through him from his toes to the top of his head, and soon enough, he was lost in the pleasure and the rhythm of Doyoung’s hips hitting his ass again and again, his cock finding Taeyong’s prostate after a while. 

As pleasure started to build up in Taeyong’s stomach, Doyoung’s thrusts seemed to falter. He knew that it wouldn’t take long anymore before they both came, and so he clenched around Doyoung once, twice and felt his vision whiten out as Doyoung hit his prostate head on, his lube slicked hand tugging at his cock two times before he threw his head back, a moan leaving his lips as pleasure overtook him completely. 

He felt warmth spread through him as Doyoung stopped, the feeling of his cum inside of him making Taeyong’s cock stir again, before he passed out. 

Taeyong watched as Jeno walked to the microphone. He could see the boy’s hand shake as he did so, his eyes trained on Sungchan and Yuqi’s families. Taeyong was sure only those who knew Jeno well would see his hands shake and his knees tremble, but he continued on walking. Kun was somewhere behind him, stood next to the mayor of district Eleven, and Taeyong turned his head just a little to find him. His eyes were trained ahead, not wavering once, and Taeyong turned back to look at the crowd, too.

Their reunion had been tearful, to Taeyong’s greatest surprise. He had expected a hug, sure, but not for Kun to start crying. And, because Taeyong was the way was, he started crying, too. Jeno had stood off to the side a bit awkwardly until Doyoung made himself known, pulling Jeno away while Kun and Taeyong talked. 

The months in between the Hunger Games and the victory tour had done Kun well. He looked better rested, well-fed and like he had made his peace with the loss of two more tributes. Taeyong admired him for it, and it made him more excited to see Jongin and Johnny again, too. 

Jeno’s voice echoed along the town-square as the district listened, the people on the square looking at him with sorrow on their faces. Jeno had done so well in seven, telling them a story about Yerim, about how she had made him laugh during training before the Games. He promised to keep in contact with her family, and to make the district proud. 

In twelve, he told a tale his mother used to tell him before bed. Of a family that used to live in twelve, who lived off of music and called themselves the Creevey. The people listened and mourned, the families of the fallen tributes sobbing the loudest, and Taeyong knew that it had been hard on Jeno. 

It had been heartwarming to listen to, though, and it made Taeyong feel a little more sure about the entire Tour as a whole. One of his reliefs had been that Doyoung was allowed to join them for all districts, not just in the Capitol, and so far, he had been a great comfort. The Tour left a bitter taste in Taeyong’s mouth, whether he was the one guiding the tribute through it or not. It felt like boasting, like the tribute and their trauma were being paraded around for the entirety of Panem to see. 

“He’s doing good,” Doyoung whispered. Taeyong nodded as subtly as he could, knowing that cameras were on him as well. Doyoung squeezed his hand, and Taeyong relaxed a little bit. He had never gotten used to standing on stage, in front of so many people, despite his own Tour. He felt ridiculously nervous, and he wasn’t even the one in the center of attention. 

“He is,” Taeyong responded. He wanted to walk off of the stage as soon as possible, perhaps go straight to the train and fall onto his bed, but he knew that they had a party to go to after. The mayor was hosting a dinner party, much like all the other mayors would do in each district, and Taeyong had already mentally prepared himself for the exhaustion that would follow him for weeks after the Tour finished and he was back home. 

“I never had the pleasure of meeting Sungchan or Yuqi, properly,” Jeno started, the cards that Baekhyun had written for him done. Taeyong turned his head slightly to the side to where Baekhyun was seated among the other VIP guests, and he had to hold back a grin as Baekhyun dabbed at his eyes with an orange handkerchief, as if his own words had moved him to tears. “But I wish I had. Taeyong, my mentor, told me about them. About how they fought the good fight. I wish I could’ve met them, talked to them properly, for I’m sure they were great people. I offer their families my condolences, and my apologies. I know you wanted them to come back, and I’m sorry it was me who did instead.”

Taeyong’s eyes widened as Jeno finished. People in the crowd looked confused too, but before they could say or do anything, Jeno stepped away from the microphone after one last bow and the mayor was forced to walk up to the stand with confusion written all over his face. 

Guilt was a natural experience to winning the Games. At least, that’s what Taeyong assumed. He remembered the months after his own victory, how he hadn’t been able to eat the smallest bits of food without feeling guilty that the tributes he had fought no longer could. Guilt was normal, but he had never heard a Victor speak of it in front of the other families, apart from the customary apologies and condolences. 

Yuqi’s mother burst into even harder sobs, and Sungchan’s father looked about ready to start a fight. Luckily, they were led away from their platforms as the Peacekeepers came out, the event over and done with. 

Taeyong followed Doyoung off of the stage and into the town-hall with his brain going hundreds of miles an hour. He felt like his brain had gotten onto a train he didn’t have control over. Was Jeno okay? Did he want to take his own life? Had he tried to take his own life?

Before Taeyong could look for Jeno, though, Doyoung pulled him swiftly to the side. “Are you okay?”

Taeyong blinked. Was he? “Jeno— does— does he wan—”

“No, Jeno doesn’t want to die, Yongie. He just told the families what they want to hear. He gave them closure.” 

“He told them he was sorry for being alive!” Taeyong responded, pulling away from Doyoung with a frown on his face.

Doyoung sighed. “Have you never felt that way? Have you never felt sorry for being alive instead of the children that died during your Games?”

Taeyong wanted to retort that that wasn’t the point, that he had never said those words out loud before with the exception of his own home, but he didn’t. He remembered how he had wanted to kneel at the feet of the parents from the lost tributes and beg for even an ounce of forgiveness, to tell them that he was sorry and that he wished he could have saved them. He swallowed. “I have.” 

Doyoung hummed, placing a hand against Taeyong’s cheek. Taeyong sighed into the touch, tears brimming in his eyes. “He just spoke those words out loud. That’s all it is.” 

Taeyong nodded and allowed for Doyoung to pull him into the hall that had been decorated for the festivities. It seemed like the mayor and his wife had really outdone themselves, for everything was decorated from head to toe. The cutlery looked as if it had been polished again and again, the candles lit along the path they had made. It didn’t hold a penny against the President mansion, but Taeyong thought it was pretty damn close.

He found Jeno talking to Kun and another man Taeyong didn’t recognize, and he hugged the boy close when Jeno saw him, too. “You did good out there.” 

Jeno sighed, his breath shaky. “Should I have kept my mouth shut? About that last part?”

Taeyong shook his head. “If it helps you cope, then you shouldn’t.” 

Jeno nodded, and Taeyong noticed how tired he looked. He wanted to take Jeno back on that train and drive it back to Seven, but he knew that wasn’t possible. They had nine districts left to go before they got to the Capitol, and all he could do was support Jeno through all of it. 

Jeno let go of him, allowing for Taeyong to focus back on Kun and the man he had never met before. “Kun! You didn’t tell me you were bringing someone?”

Kun raised his glass as a toast before wrapping an arm around the man next to him, placing a kiss against his cheek. Taeyong raised an eyebrow, but before he could ask, Kun spoke. “This is Ten. Ten, this is Taeyong.” 

Ten smiled at Taeyong, holding out his hand, and Taeyong shook it eagerly. “Nice to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you already.”

Taeyong chuckled, flashing the other a smile. He felt like he was meeting someone at his school, not like they were standing in the midst of a dinner party celebrating the death of twenty-three teenagers. “It’s nice to meet you, too. I hope Kun only told you good things?”

Ten giggled, nodding. “I doubt there are any bad things to tell, Taeyong. Where is your man?” 

Taeyong smiled, “You’re far too kind. Doyoung said he needed to use the bathroom, but he’ll be back in a few.” 

The music around them turned down a little bit, allowing for the mayor to invite everyone to take a seat. Taeyong found his seat across from Kun and Ten’s, Jeno on his right and Doyoung on his left. Doyoung joined them a few minutes later, holding two drinks in his hand, and he kissed Taeyong’s cheek before taking a seat. “Did I miss anything?” 

Taeyong chuckled, nodding. “Doyoung, this is Ten. Ten, this is Doyoung.”

Taeyong’s words seemed to pull Ten away from whatever conversation he was having with the woman next to him, and his eyes found Doyoung’s easily. “Oh! Lovely to meet you, Doyoung! I have been meaning to thank you for what you did for Sungchan, in the arena.”

Doyoung raised an eyebrow. “No need to thank me, Ten. I wasn’t aware Kun had somebody?” 

Taeyong’s eyes widened. “Doyoung!”

Ten merely laughed, though, while Kun nearly choked on his drink. “It’s alright, Taeyong. We didn’t want to make it public just yet.” 

Taeyong raised an eyebrow, but he didn’t ask. Instead, he raised his glass for a toast, and waited for Jeno and Ten to hit it with their own. “A valid decision. A toast, for health.” 

The dinner party turned out to be a nice one, with the company of Kun and Ten taking full credit for that. Most of the others around just wanted to talk to Jeno, ask him about his time in the arena, and he had to pull the poor boy away on several occasions to give him a chance to breathe. 

They arrived back in the train past midnight, seeing Jeno off to his own carriage before making their way to theirs. Doyoung had gotten Kun’s number, too, for when he had asked for Ten’s they realized that Kun and Ten shared a home. They had hit it off instantly, their love for music making them bond quicker than Taeyong had expected them to, but he liked it. 

So far, Doyoung had managed to slip into Taeyong’s life almost seamlessly. Not too seamlessly, for a healthy relationship was never without fault, but Taeyong felt more whole everytime Doyoung managed to get one of his friends to warm up to him significantly. Of course, Kun and Doyoung had spent time together during the Games, but never alone. And while Taeyong and Ten had snuck off to dance for a little bit — Ten’s idea, not Taeyong’s — Kun and Doyoung had done just that. 

Taeyong allowed for Doyoung to undress him, his skin warm in the places where Doyoung placed his lips against his cold body, until they were tangled in bed together. Taeyong rested his head against Doyoung’s chest, feeling the soft movements of Doyoung’s hand against his back, and for the first time ever on the train, Taeyong felt like he could sleep an entire night without a single nightmare, as long as Doyoung kept rubbing his back and holding him close. 

Taeyong had done this many, many times before. And, now that Jeno was there, he would only have to do it a few more times before it ended, but Taeyong felt like he could do it. He felt like he could sit on that same stage time and time again as long as Doyoung was there with him. 

“I love you.” He whispered into the quiet, not expecting an answer back. He felt Doyoung shift, though, and the hold on his waist tighten. 

“I love you, too.” 

Taeyong didn’t reply. He merely placed a kiss against the skin of Doyoung’s chest before closing his eyes, allowing for Doyoung’s soft humming and singing to fill his ears and lull him to sleep. 

Six months later, Doyoung moved in with Taeyong. The closet was now permanently filled with Doyoung’s clothes, too, and his side of the bed was always warm in the morning. The garden had grown twice as big, holding more flowers that Doyoung had grown to love, and Taeyong listened to him pull weeds as he sang to the petals close to his face. 

Taeyong was in the Capitol far more than he had expected when he was just a child, playing in the fields and eating the burned bread his father had gotten from the bakery. He went to Doyoung’s shows, sang the loudest to his songs, and then cuddled him to sleep the same night. 

Doyoung did teach him how to golf, but Taeyong was sure that if someone asked him about it, he wouldn’t know any of the rules anymore. He visited Baekhyun and gave Chanyeol that revanche in poker he had asked for. Taeyong had lost, naturally, but Doyoung had comforted him with a good blow-job once they got back to his apartment. 

They made an agreement that Doyoung would go back to the Capitol for a weekend each month, for he couldn’t do without singing, and Taeyong would come along. Taeyong didn’t mind; he loved seeing Doyoung behind the microphone, loved hearing his voice as angelic as it always was, and all of that was so worth coming back to the Capitol again and again. 

When the nightmares came, Doyoung was there. When Doyoung got nervous about a performance, Taeyong was there for him. They gardened together, they took walks through the forest of the district and visited Jeno whenever they could. Yuta and Sicheng came over for dinner every now and again, the evening usually ending in a game of cards that Doyoung always ‘lost’ — it meant that Yuta and Sicheng left with a bit of money and food — and Taeil joined them on most nights. 

Doyoung found a home in the district, too, and that had been one of Taeyong’s biggest concerns. He had been scared that Doyoung would miss the bustling city of the Capitol, but he seemed to love the quiet of the district, as well. He went on early morning runs, bought fresh bread from the bakery and supported the shops on the square. He was generous with his tips, earning him a smile even from those who had spat in front of him months before. 

“He’s not so bad, for a Capitol boy,” An old man had told Taeyong. And while the comment had irked him at first, Doyoung had seemed more than satisfied. He tried hard to gain the approval of those in Seven, supporting them as much as he could, and Taeyong stayed back, watching from the sidelines. 

He let Doyoung do his thing, whatever he deemed necessary, and soon enough nobody in the district gave him glares anymore. They were able to walk through the neighborhoods without getting stared at and, after four months of Doyoung having moved in, he was invited to sing at a birthday party from one of the team leaders from the carpenter crew. 

They had come to Taeyong’s house with a basket of bread and the request, and while Doyoung could have taken the bread and said yes, he gave the basket back with more food, a few coins and the promise that he would be there. After that, it was like Doyoung had grown up in Seven himself. 

Even in Seven, Taeyong found a rhythm he loved, one that he got used to, and when the Reaping creeped nearer and Jeno grew more nervous, Taeyong felt like he could handle it better than the past years. 

It was still painful to watch the tributes walk the stage as he stood there with Jeno, following him into the town-hall and through the corridors that Jeno himself had walked a year prior, and Taeyong still felt his blood boil every time a Capitol citizen commented on the tributes like they were products. 

He supported Jeno during the pep-talk he gave the tributes on the train. Jeno seemed eager to teach while Taeyong knew that he wouldn’t sleep for the next week or so, but he allowed Jeno to do it. He watched him work, watched him talk as much as he could to the tributes, and when the individual scores came after days of training, the tributes stole the show. 

Dejun had gotten the position of Head Gamemaker, and it terrified both Jeno and Taeyong, but Doyoung squeezed his waist every time Taeyong found himself growing agitated over it. They had no idea what monstrous creatures he was going to set free in the Arena this time, but Taeyong tried not to think of it as much. 

For now he moved to watch the interviews on the television instead, with his feet kicked up on the coffee table and curled against Doyoung’s chest. He tried to push down his nerves and worry as the first tribute walked on stage, Jongdae’s voice booming through the living room, and succeeded with Doyoung’s hand carding through his hair. 

Doyoung leaned over to place a kiss on top of Taeyong’s head, and Taeyong sighed as he did so. As long as Doyoung was with him, Taeyong felt like he could conquer the world.

**Author's Note:**

> AAAAH
> 
> and so. it is done. i hope you all enjoyed! please leave comments and kudos for they are highly, highly appreciated. thank you so much for reading! have a wonderful day or sleep well, wherever you are x
> 
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